THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Q<J 


NEWELL  DW1GHT  H1LLIS 


Ufilb  Illuminacioijs  by 
WILLIS   BARD\»eLL 


COPYRIGHT,  1914, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  April,  1914. 


NorfaooD 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PS 


Originality  is  of  two  kinds,  that  which  says  a 
thing  first,  and  that  which  says  a  thing  best.  Jesus 
discovered  the  four  greatest  truths  ever  set  forth 
by  the  human  intellect,  and  He  not  only  said  these 
four  things  first,  but  He  said  them  best.  He  was 
unique  through  His  discovery  of  the  equality  of 
woman  and  man,  the  equality  of  peasant  and  prince, 
the  equality  of  the  races,  and  the  equality  of  two 
worlds,  heaven  and  earth,  bound  together  by  the 
love  of  God  to  sinful  man. 


1710731 


WHILE  READING  THEM  I  SAW  THE  HEAVENS  OPENED" 


THE  MAYFLOWER  AND  HOME  SCHOOL  OF 
PLYMOUTH  CHURCH 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    A    LITERARY     SLAVE     AND     AN     OLD 

LIBRARY 2 

II.    THE  SECRET  MEETING  IN  THE   HOUSE 

OF  NICIAS      .        .        .        .        .        .38 

III.  THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES         .        .      66 

IV.  THE  ROMAN  LAWYER       ....      98 
V.    THE    STOLEN    ROLLS    PROTECT    THEM- 
SELVES     138 

VI.    THE  NEW   ORPHEUS   AND  His  WORLD 

Music 182 

VII.    How  WE  GOT  THE  GREATEST  BOOK  IN 

THE  WORLD 230 

NOTES  307 


ORGffiORD 


FOREWORD 


HE  experts  tell  us  our 
modern    paper    is    so 
brittle  as  to   make  it 
uncertain  whether  any 
book  of  the  twentieth 
century     will     survive 
two  hundred  years  of 
time.     Paper  made  from  wood  fibre 
soon  breaks    and  passes   into    dust. 
Chemists    believe     the     daily    news- 
papers now  being  preserved  as  records 
of  our  generation  will  crumble  at  the 
touch  of  the  hand  that  turns  the  page 
a    century    hence.      Even   the    linen 
paper  in  our  most  carefully  printed 
books  has  been  treated  with  acid,  and  in 
a  damp  climate  will  soon  perish.     Fortu- 
[1*1 


FOREWORD 

nately,  the  era  of  Paul  and  his  Master 
was  an  era  when  scholars  used  good  ink 
and  stout  papyrus,  that  their  literary 
materials  might  endure.  Fortunately, 
also,  the  climate  of  Egypt  and  the  Orient 
is  dry,  and  without  extremes  of  heat  and 
cold. 

The  skilful  hands  that  sealed  the  tombs 
of  kings  and  priests  buried  with  the  hero 
his  rolls  and  parchments.  The  story  of 
Columbus'  discovery  of  a  new  continent 
is  not  more  fascinating  and  romantic  than 
the  story  of  the  rediscovery  of  the  old 
world  of  intellect  now  being  told  through 
the  spade  of  the  archaeologist.  Literally 
tons  of  papyri,  that  have  been  buried  for 
centuries,  have  been  taken  from  the  tombs 
of  Egypt.  If  no  new  discoveries  are 
made,  the  work  of  translating  the  thou- 
sands of  rolls  now  in  existence  will  for 
years  occupy  the  scholars  of  Europe  and 
[xivl 


FOREWORD 

the  United  States.  Old  tombs,  old  bricks, 
old  rolls  are  throwing  a  flood  of  light 
upon  the  story  of  Jesus  and  the  founding 
of  His  church.  Every  morning  scholars 
wake  to  expectancy,  not  knowing  but  the 
day  may  bring  the  translation  of  a  roll 
of  papyrus  that  will  take  us  back  to  the 
lifetime  of  the  Man  of  Galilee. 

New  literary  and  archaeological  dis- 
coveries have  carried  the  date  of  the  Mem- 
orabilia of  Jesus  back  to  about  65  A.D. 
Professor  Harnack  thinks  that  the  Gospels 
of  Mark  and  Luke  were  in  existence  during 
the  year  62  A.D.,  and  that  the  author 
who  compiled  these  gospels  must  have 
been  acquainted  with  Paul  and  his  letters. 
Some  experts  in  the  same  field  date  the 
Memorabilia  of  the  Master  a  few  years 
earlier,  and  some  a  little  later.  Only 
thirty-five  summers  and  winters  lie  be- 
tween the  assassination  of  Abraham  Lin- 
[xv] 


FOR 


nately,  the  era  of 
was  an  era  when  s 
and    stout    papyru 
materials     might 
also,  the  climate  of 


VORD 


aul  and  his  Master 
olars  used  good  ink 
that  their  literary 
dure.  Fortunately, 
gypt  and  the  Orient 


is  dry,  and  withoutextremes  of  heat  and 
cold. 

The  skilful  handshat  sealed  the  tombs 
of  kings  and  priest  nburied  with  the  hero 
his  rolls  and  parcluents.  The  story  of 


Columbus'  discover] 
is  not  more  fascinatj 


of  a  new  continent 
g  and  romantic  than 
iscovery  of  the  old 
world  of  intellect  n«ir  being  told  through 
the  spade  of  the  uihaeologist.  Literally 
tons  of  papyri,  thatkave  been  buried  for 
centuries,  have  beeniaken  from  the  toml>> 
of  Egypt.  If  no  >ew  discoveries  are 
made,  the  work  of  janslatiiiir  the  thou- 
sands of  rolls  nowjn  existence  will  tor 
years  occupy  the  soolars  of  Europe 

I  v| 


FOREWORI 

the  United  States.  Old  toabs,  old  bricks, 
old  rolls  are  throwing  a  flood  of  light 
upon  the  story  of  Jesus  ad  the  founding 
of  His  church.  Every  mining  scholars 
wake  to  expectancy,  not  kowing  but  the 
day  may  bring  the  transition  of  a  roll 
of  papyrus  that  will  takeas  back  to  the 
lifetime  of  the  Man  of  Ga  ee. 

New  literary  and  aroseological  dis- 
coveries have  carried  the  dte  of  the  Mem- 
orabilia of  Jesus  back  tq  about  65  A.D. 
Professor  Harnack  thinks  lat  the  Gospels 
of  Mark  and  Luke  were  inpdstence  during 
the  year  62  A.D.,  and  flat  the  author 
who  compiled  these  gosfels  must  have 
been  acquainted  with  Pauand  his  letters. 
Some  experts  in  the  sam  field  date  the 
Memorabilia  of  the  Mas  r  a  few  years 
earlier,  and  some  a  lit  '  later.  Only 
thirty-five  summers  lie  be- 

tween the 


FOREWORD 

coin  and  the  death  of  President  McKinley 
and  the  new  discoveries  indicate  that  the 
death  of  Jesus  and  the  first  record  of  his 
career  were  separated  by  not  more  thac 
thirty  or  forty  years.  We  know  how  the 
two  disciples,  Xenophon  and  Plato,  came 
to  write  the  Memorabilia  of  their  master, 
—  the  tragedy  of  the  cup  of  poison,  and 
the  dying  words  of  Socrates  cast  a  spell 
upon  these  disciples.  Plato  and  Xenophorj 
went  forth  to  search  out  reminiscences, 
that  they  might  leave  to  later  ages  the 
full  story  of  the  noblest  man  that  evei 
walked  the  streets  of  Athens.  But  Jesus: 
music  was  sweeter  than  Athenian  music 
His  epic  was  a  world  epic,  and  His  song 
a  universal  melody  for  all  races  and  all 
ages.  Like  Socrates,  the  Man  of  Galilee 
died,  leaving  no  written  page;  so  bitter 
also,  was  the  persecution  against  Hi; 
disciples,  that  in  a  little  while  the  Twelv< 
[xvi] 


FOREWORD 

were  mobbed  to  death.  But  when  death 
had  stilled  the  brave  men  who  could  speak 
of  what  their  own  eyes  had  seen  and  their 
own  ears  had  heard,  His  friends  began 
to  realize  the  need  of  a  written  record  of 
their  Master's  career.  The  graves  of  the 
Twelve  were  scattered  over  three  conti- 
nents ;  in  these  towns,  so  widely  separated, 
there  dwelt  those  who  had  some  record, 
now  a  parable,  now  a  proverb,  now  a  letter, 
now  a  longer  roll.  To  bring  together 
these  memorabilia,  some  lover  of  his 
Master,  like  young  Xenophon  or  Plato, 
went  forth,  within  thirty  years  of  Christ's 
death,  to  gather  the  reminiscences  of  that 
Saviour,  whose  music  was  sweeter  than 
that  of  Orpheus,  whose  eloquence  dimmed 
'Apollo's  speech. 

No  one  knows  at  whose  hands  the  world 
has  received    its    most  precious    literary 
treasure.    We  must  assume  that  some  noble 
[xvii] 


FOREWORD 

youth  went  everywhither,  collecting  the 
reminiscences  of  shepherds,  soldiers,  ar- 
tisans, and  fishermen,  and  later  assembled 
in  his  priceless  collection  bits  of  leather, 
goat-skin,  parchment,  inscriptions  on  wood, 
and  on  metal,  written  by  many  hands, 
and  in  several  languages,  in  many  lands, 
until  at  last  these  records  were  brought 
together  in  a  full  story.  The  next  genera- 
tion may  be  more  disturbed  over  New 
Testament  criticism  than  were  men  twenty 
years  ago  over  the  literary  analysis  of  the 
Pentateuch.  The  coming  debate  may 
bring  a  stormy  discussion.  But  the  storm 
that  will  rage  through  the  boughs  of  the 
tree  will  soon  die  out ;  the  tree,  divinely 
planted,  will  live  and  grow,  ever  ripening 
new  clusters  for  new  pilgrims.  One  thing 
is  certain,  —  recent  discoveries  in  the  East 
prove  that  Mark,  Luke,  and  Matthew 
used  a  common  source  for  many  of  their 
[  xviii  ] 


FOREWORD 

pages.  What  God  inspired  was  the  life, 
and  not  the  record,  of  that  divinely 
inspired  life.  Many  scholars  call  the 
unknown  but  common  source  of  the 
Gospels  "Q."  Who  made  that  first  com- 
mon collection,  no  one  knows.  Perhaps 
we  have  the  Memorabilia  of  Jesus  at  the 
hands  of  some  young  slave  who  stole  a 
roll,  or  a  piece  of  goatskin  that  held  a  rich 
and  musical  saying  of  the  Master  —  a 
slave  who  was  transformed  by  the  reading 
of  the  roll,  and  who  tried  to  right  the 
wrong  he  had  done  by  going  up  and  down 
the  world,  risking  life  itself  to  bring  to- 
gether the  broken  papyri  that,  long  after- 
wards, were  found  in  a  chest  in  the  house 
of  an  old  wheat  merchant  in  Ephesus. 

NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS. 


[xixl 


OR)  IfiDmry 


THE    STORY   OF   PH^DRUS 


HOW  WE  GOT  THE  GREATEST 
BOOK  IN  THE  WORLD 

CHAPTER  I 

A  LITERARY  SLAVE  AND  AN  OLD  LIBRARY 


a  literary  slave.     Of 
he  had   become  hard 
bitter,  and  no  boy  ever 
*rf.  had  better  reason  for  hate  and 
rebellion.      Within  two  years 
he  had  gone  from  the  uttermost 
of  good  fortune  to  the  uttermost 
of    pain    and    sorrow.      The    son 
of   a    Greek  merchant    of   Mity- 
lene,  he  had  spent  all  his  life  in 
[3] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

a  rich  man's  house,  with  slaves  of  his  own 
to  fetch  and  carry.  But  Phsedron,  his 
father,  had  incurred  the  jealousy  of  Her- 
mon,  the  governor.  Avaricious  and  jeal- 
ous of  his  subject's  wealth,  the  Roman 
official  had  cast  about  for  some  means  of 
bringing  low  this  rich  merchant.  One 
afternoon  the  boy  Phaedrus  had  returned 
from  his  games  to  find  soldiers  standing 
before  his  father's  home,  and  on  the  gate 
a  notice  with  these  words  :  — 
"The  Property  of  the  Emperor." 
Then  had  come  his  father's  arrest,  his 
journey  to  Rome  for  trial,  the  news  of 
his  death,  and  the  confiscation  of  his 
property.  Worst  of  all,  when  the  family 
slaves  were  sold  at  auction,  the  name  of 
the  boy  Phaedrus  had  headed  the  list. 
One  thing  only  had  saved  the  patrician 
youth  from  the  drudgery  of  the  fields  :  he 

had   been  well  taught.     He   knew   Latin 
[4] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

as  well  as  Greek;  he  could  decorate, 
with  a  delicate  and  subtle  imagery,  the 
manuscripts  which  in  those  days  took  the 
place  of  books.  And  when  his  new  mas- 
ter, the  Roman  governor,  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  Ephesus,  he  had  taken  with 
him  as  his  secretary  the  son  of  the  Greek 
patrician  he  had  hated. 

Since  early  morning  Phsedrus  had  been 
in  the  library  working  on  the  speech  his 
master  was  to  deliver  that  evening.  All 
about  his  feet  lay  the  rolls  and  parch- 
ments from  which  he  had  taken  the  bright 
sayings  and  the  wise  proverbs  that  his 
master  loved.  It  was  a  typical  library 
of  that  far-off  day.  There  were  no  shelves 
with  books  upon  them,  —  the  library  was 
more  like  a  modern  post-office,  with  rolls 
thrust  into  the  pigeonholes,  instead  of  our 
letters  and  papers.  Phsedrus'  duty  was 
to  put  the  rolls  in  place,  to  keep  the  covers 
[5] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^IDRUS 

new  and  bright,  to  see  that  the  manu- 
scripts with  their  initials  of  blue  and 
crimson  were  not  left  in  the  sun,  where 
the  light  could  fade  their  rich  colors. 

Winter  was  upon  the  earth,  December 
had  come,  and  with  it  the  games  and 
sports  of  the  Saturnalia.  The  feast  always 
began  on  the  18th  of  December,  and 
continued  until  the  25th,  which  was 
the  last  great  day  of  the  celebration. 
This  year  the  feast  had  taken  on  a  certain 
fierce  note  of  joy  that  turned  banquets 
into  orgies.  It  so  happened  that  at  the 
beginning  of  December,  Phsedrus'  master, 
Hermon,  laden  with  rich  spoil,  had  re- 
turned with  his  legion  of  soldiers  from 
a  campaign  in  the  interior.  Ostensibly, 
they  had  gone  forth  to  put  down  a  re- 
bellion, but,  in  fact,  they  had  brought 
back  treasures  which  justified  the  sus- 
picion that  theirs  had  been  merely  a  loot- 
[6] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

ing  expedition.  The  military  field  was 
several  miles  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  and  for  one  full  week  the  citizens 
had  gone  forth  day  by  day  to  watch  the 
caravans  toiling  slowly  in;  pack-horses, 
laden  with  wheat  and  rye  and  barley; 
oxen,  drawing  rude  carts,  filled  with  casks 
of  oil  and  wine;  mules,  plodding  wearily 
under  bales  of  wool  and  linen,  rugs  and 
tapestries ;  herds  of  cattle  and  sheep  and 
goats,  with  hundreds  of  Arabian  horses. 
To-night,  in  response  to  the  old  soldier's 
invitation,  a  few  of  the  leading  men  of 
Ephesus  were  to  come  in,  to  celebrate  the 
success  of  his  expedition.  Phaedrus  closed 
his  eyes  and  saw  the  picture  in  advance. 
It  would  be  his  part  to  meet  the  litters  as 
they  arrived,  to  loop  back  the  curtains 
and  help  the  guests  alight;  then  to  lead 
the  way  into  the  large  reception  room, 
where  Hermon  would  be  standing,  — 
[71 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

sour  and  grim,  like  a  scarred  old  lion  among 
his  spoils.  There  would  be  many  guests, 
much  laughter  and  drinking,  and  keen 
interest  in  the  collection  of  curios  which 
was  the  old  soldier's  pride.  But  no  one 
would  ask  to  see  the  library :  the  delicate 
rolls  with  their  rich  colors  and  marvellous 
lettering  would  lie  all  untouched  and 
forgotten  in  the  other  room,  where  the 
intellect  had  its  home. 

Phsedrus  sighed,  as  he  watched  his  fellow 
slaves  moving  swiftly  about  the  room, 
alert  and  excited  by  the  thought  of  the 
coming  entertainment.  The  event  brought 
gloom  to  the  young  Greek,  and  a  bitter 
reminder  of  the  light  and  laughter  of  a 
world  to  which  he  had  once  belonged, 
but  from  whose  golden  threshold  he  was 
now  shut  out  forever. 

Simonides,  the  oldest  slave  in  Hermon's 
retinue,  came  and  stood  beside  him.  The 
[8] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

old  man  had  always  been  a  slave,  but  he 
understood  none  the  less  the  tragedy  of 
Phaedrus'  broken  life.  He  touched  Phse- 
drus'  arm,  as  if  half  afraid  to  interrupt 
the  boy's  reflections. 

"Can  I  help  you  ?"  he  asked  simply. 

Nothing  is  as  moving  as  compassion,  and 
the  old  man's  gentle  offer  choked  the  boy. 

"Thank  you,"  Phsedrus  answered. 
"There  is  no  need.  I  have  only  to  put 
away  these  rolls." 

But  as  if  stirred  by  an  instinctive  desire 
for  sympathy,  he  lifted  no  finger  upon  the 
parchments  lying  about  him. 

"Will  there  be  many  guests  here  to- 
night?" asked  Simonides,  as  he  bent  to 
raise  two  of  the  longer  manuscripts  from 
the  floor. 

"Not  many.      It  is  not  a  state  affair." 

A  voice  sounded  in  the  doorway. 
"Phsedrus!" 

[9] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

The  slave  who  kept  the  outer  gate 
stood  beckoning.  It  seemed  that  a  Greek 
merchant  wished  to  see  the  governor. 
Would  Phsedrus  explain  to  the  gentleman 
that  the  master  was  not  in  ? 

The  boy  gripped  Simonides'  arm  affec- 
tionately. 

"Do  not  bother,"  he  whispered:  "I 
will  put  the  rolls  back,  myself."  Then 
Phsedrus  left  the  library,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  reception  hall. 

The  house  was  like  most  houses  belonging 
to  the  patrician  class  of  that  day :  built 
of  brick,  and  lined  with  marble.  It 
measured  about  one  hundred  feet  across 
the  front,  with  long  wings  that  extended 
far  into  the  rear.  Between  the  two  wings 
was  an  open  court,  and  to  the  rear  of  this, 
surrounded  by  palms,  was  another,  inner 
court,  the  very  heart  of  the  house.  About 
these  courts  were  distributed  the  curios 
[10] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

and  the  treasures  which  the  old  soldier 
had  brought  home  from  his  campaign,  — 
fragments  of  altars,  marbles,  bronzes, 
strange  carvings,  shields  taken  from  the 
temple  of  Mars,  idols  overlaid  with  precious 
metals  and  studded  with  gems.  Through 
all  this  piled-up  treasure,  Phaedrus  passed 
hurriedly  to  the  outer  court,  which  opened 
upon  a  double  row  of  box-alder  trees  lead- 
ing down  to  the  gate. 

On  the  threshold  stood  an  elderly  man, 
whom  Phsedrus  recognized  at  once.  He 
was  a  wheat  merchant,  Nicias,  a  Greek  by 
birth,  and  the  owner  of  a  line  of  ships. 
With  his  white  hair,  his  ruddy  cheeks,  and 
his  air  of  stately  dignity,  this  old  man 
made  a  striking  figure.  Success  had  set 
her  stamp  upon  him;  distinction  was  in 
his  slightest  gesture;  and  there  was 
withal  an  indefinable  graciousness  about 
him,  a  kind  of  generous  charity  that 
[11] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

seemed  to  warm  the  very  atmosphere 
around  him.  It  was  as  if  gentle  old 
Simonides,  humble  of  birth  and  kind  of 
heart,  had  been  transformed  by  some 
wizard's  touch  into  a  wealthy  nobleman. 
Here  was  a  man  heavy  with  the  weight 
of  years  and  honors,  yet  buoyed  up  by  the 
sense  of  peace  which  comes  from  a  kind 
heart. 

Partly  because  both  loved  books,  partly 
because  both  were  Greek  by  birth,  there 
was  at  once  a  bond  of  sympathy  between 
the  rich  ship  owner  Nicias,  and  the  literary 
slave.  Phsedrus  smiled  with  pleasure  as 
he  asked  the  merchant  to  enter,  and  ex- 
plained that  Hermon  was  for  the  moment 
absent.  Nicias,  it  seemed,  had  come  upon 
a  matter  of  importance ;  he  would  wait. 
So  Phsedrus  led  the  guest  into  the  library, 
and  beckoned  to  a  slave  boy  who  brought 
a  little  tray  with  cakes  and  wine. 
[12] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

The  merchant  glanced  at  the  rolls  and 
manuscripts  upon  the  floor,  and  then  up 
at  Phaedrus. 

"I  will  have  a  look  at  your  books,"  he 
said  kindly,  "until  your  master  comes." 

Phsedrus  was  delighted.  He  selected 
one  of  the  finest  rolls,  and  spread  it  out 
upon  a  table  which  Simonides  brought  and 
set  before  the  merchant.  Nicias  gazed 
at  the  manuscript  in  evident  amazement. 

"I  knew,"  he  said,  "that  your  master 
was  widely  known  as  a  soldier ;  I  did  not 
know  that  he  was  a  collector  of  rare  books." 
There  was  an  undercurrent  of  humor  in 
his  voice.  Phsedrus  caught  it,  and  smiled. 

"It  used  to  be  a  saying  of  my  father's," 
he  answered,  "that  men  always  talk  down 
their  strongest  gift,  and  overestimate  their 
second  talent.  Hermon  is  a  soldier ;  there- 
fore, he  wishes  to  be  known  as  a  speaker. 
If  he  were  an  orator,  he  would  probably 
[13] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

wish  he  were  a  merchant.  Being  a  military 
governor,  he  regrets  that  he  is  not  a  writer." 

Nicias  looked  up  sharply.  The  little 
speech  was  as  surprising  as  it  was  formal 
and  precise. 

"Who  was  your  father?" 

Phsedrus  colored. 

"  My  father  was  the  merchant  Phaedron, 
of  Mitylene." 

Nicias  dropped  his  eyes.  He  had  often 
heard  the  tale,  and  he  was  curious  to  know 
more  of  the  boy  whose  fate  all  Mitylene 
had  once  mourned.  He  took  up  the  roll 
again  and  fingered  it  idly. 

"But  where  does  Hermon  find  such 
literary  treasure?  I  did  not  know  there 
was  so  rare  a  copy  in  Ephesus." 

Phsedrus'  expression  hardened. 

"Hermon  has  not  owned  this  roll  long. 
He  —  brought  it  back  from  his  last  cam- 


paign." 


[14] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

"And  he  found  it  in  what  city?" 

"In  Iconium." 

Nicias  turned  a  shrewd  gaze  upon  the 
boy. 

"Found  it?" 

Phaedrus  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  was  given  him,  then." 

The  old  man  laughed  softly. 

"If  you  would  have  a  library,"  he  con- 
tinued, "become  a  soldier!  And  what 
was  the  particular  reason  why  the  owner 
of  this  copy  made  Hermon  a  present  of 
it?"  He  paused  an  instant.  "Of  course, 
you  do  not  know,  —  definitely ;  but  has 
any  rumor  been  spread  —  perhaps  an 
ill-founded  rumor — "  here  the  old  man's 
eyes  sparkled,  "concerning  the  possible 
manner  of  its  acquisition?" 

Phsedrus  laughed  aloud. 

"I  have  not  —  as  you  say  —  heard 
definitely.  But  rumor  has  it  —  perhaps  an 
[15] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

ill-founded  rumor  —  that  the  owner  of  this 
copy  failed  to  pay  his  taxes  without  notice 
in  advance." 

The  old  man  nodded. 

"Without  notice,"  he  said.     "Exactly." 

Simonides  approached,  bearing  one  of 
the  tapestries  Hermon  had  lately  brought 
home  from  the  war. 

"Your  master  tells  me,"  Nicias  con- 
tinued, "he  has  acquired  a  new  altar.  He 
says  there  is  a  piece  broken  off  one  corner, 
and  that  the  broken  piece  indicates — " 

Phaedrus  smiled. 

"I  know.  I  will  get  it."  He  waited 
for  the  merchant's  glance  of  permission; 
then  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

Simonides  stopped  him. 

"Perhaps  Nicias  would  like  to  see  the 
marble  from  Persia  that  is  in  the  outer 
court." 

Phsedrus  wondered,  suddenly,  at  the  old 
[161 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

slave's  audacity  in  suggesting  anything 
to  so  great  a  man  as  Nicias.  What 
astonished  him  even  more  was  Nicias' 
eager  assent  to  the  suggestion.  In  per- 
plexity, Phsedrus  hurried  out  of  the  room. 
He  found  the  fragment,  caught  it  up,  and 
turned  quickly  back  to  the  library.  As 
he  neared  the  door  he  thought  he  heard 
voices,  —  Simonides'  voice,  —  and  again 
he  experienced  a  vague  feeling  of  surprise. 
But  it  was  not  until  he  reached  the  door 
that  he  realized  the  meaning  of  the  inci- 
dent. Then  he  caught  himself  and 
stopped,  on  the  very  threshold. 

Nicias  was  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  door,  one  arm  thrown  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  old  slave.  Simonides  was  deeply 
interested  in  what  the  merchant  was  saying. 
Neither  heard  the  boy's  swift  step. 

In  a  flash  Phsedrus  understood  that  it 
had  all  been  planned ;  the  broken  fragment, 
c  [17] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  errand  in  the  distant  room,  the  hour  of 
Nicias'  call.  In  a  flash,  also,  he  realized 
that  he  must  not  surprise  the  two  men. 
He  stepped  softly  back  into  the  hallway ; 
moved,  tip-toe,  a  dozen  paces  from  the 
door,  and  then  executed  a  noisy  stumble  on 
the  marble  pavement.  This  time,  as  he 
entered,  Nicias  was  standing  looking  at 
a  copy  of  the  Iliad,  while  Simonides, 
several  paces  distant,  stood  holding  the 
tray  with  the  wine  and  cakes. 

Phsedrus  held  out  the  marble  fragment, 
but  his  fingers  trembled  as  he  unfastened 
the  silk  wrappings.  The  voice  of  sus- 
picion clamored  within  him;  a  secret 
instinct  warned  him  that  something  strange 
and  ominous  was  taking  place  in  his 
master's  house.  What !  Nicias,  arm  in 
arm  with  a  slave !  The  thing  was  un- 
heard of.  A  rich  man,  the  friend  of  a 
miserable  old  house  servant !  Phsedrus 
[18] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

could  not  grasp  it.  He  himself  was  a  rich 
man's  son;  —  he  was  something  of  a 
scholar;  he  had  been  but  a  short  time  in 
the  position  of  literary  slave  and  he  un- 
derstood the  wheat  merchant,  by  breeding 
and  by  intuition.  But  what  could  rich 
Nicias  have  in  common  with  old,  scarred, 
ignorant  Simonides,  who  had  been  a  slave 
from  his  very  childhood?  It  is  difficult 
for  the  modern  to  realize  the  place  of  the 
slave  in  PhaBdrus'  day.  Between  the 
master  and  the  servant  of  that  era  a 
great  gulf  was  digged.  Egypt  had  a 
million  slaves,  all  treated  like  cattle. 
The  master  had  his  servant  killed  to 
settle  a  dispute  between  his  guests;  had 
him  tortured  for  a  mistake  in  serving 
at  a  banquet;  crucified  him  for  stepping 
upon  some  pet  animal.  Nothing  was  too 
cruel,  nothing  too  terrible,  for  the  slave 
to  suffer.  And  while  occasionally  there 
[19] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

was  a  master  who  was  kind  to  his  slaves, 
the  very  rarity  of  such  an  attitude  made  it 
dangerous.  The  slave  body  was  always 
on  the  brink  of  revolt ;  the  master  dwelt 
ever  above  a  volcano. 

Phsedrus  knew  this ;  he  felt  that  Nicias 
knew  it,  and  a  hundred  questions  filled 
his  mind.  At  that  very  moment,  Ephesus 
was  in  a  panic  of  terror  over  her  slaves. 
The  news  of  the  successful  revolt  of  the 
bondsmen  of  North  Italy  had  sent  a 
shudder  over  the  Empire.  From  a  town 
in  Sicily  had  come  the  story  of  slaves 
who  had  slain  their  masters  and  possessed 
themselves  of  the  shops  and  stores,  of 
the  fields  and  vineyards.  The  governor 
of  Ephesus  had  taken  precautions  against 
a  similar  outbreak  in  his  own  city.  All 
meetings  of  slaves  for  any  purpose  what- 
soever were  forbidden.  Two  slaves  pass- 
ing in  the  market-place  might  not  even 
[20] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

stop  for  conversation.  Orders  had  gone 
out  that  the  bondsmen  were  to  begin  work 
at  daylight  and  end  at  dark,  at  which  time 
each  master  was  to  call  the  roll  within  the 
walls  of  his  house,  and  see  that  all  the 
gates  were  locked.  As  there  were  five 
slaves  to  one  master,  the  peril  and  public 
excitement  were  only  natural.  Even  in 
modern  times  a  man  with  iron  nails  in 
his  shoes  walks  softly  in  a  powder  factory. 

All  this  passed  through  Phsedrus'  mind, 
as  he  stood  holding  the  marble  fragment 
for  Nicias'  inspection. 

Nicias  was  speaking  quietly,  without 
the  least  indication  of  excitement. 

"A  fine  piece  of  work,"  he  was  saying, 
"a  Parian  marble,  carved  by  an  Athenian 
chisel !"  He  took  the  marble  from  Phse- 
drus' hands,  and  examined  it  with  the 
interest  of  a  connoisseur.  The  action  was 

so  simple,  and  the  interest  so  real  and  un- 
[21] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^EDRUS 

feigned,  that  for  an  instant  it  quite  dis- 
armed the  boy.  Then  the  old  man  Nicias 
spoke  again. 

"The  hour  is  late.  I  must  let  my  busi- 
ness with  Hermon  go  until  later."  He 
laid  the  fragment  on  the  little  table,  and 
arose. 

Simonides  came  forward,  and  gathered 
up  the  manuscripts.  The  slave  boy  took 
the  tray  with  the  wine  and  cakes.  Phse- 
drus  led  Nicias  to  the  outer  door,  down 
through  the  garden,  between  the  rows  of 
box-alders  to  the  gate.  There,  four  slaves 
stood  waiting  with  torches  and  a  litter. 

As  he  took  his  seat,  Nicias  smiled  up  at 
Phsedrus,  with  the  winning  manner  which 
had  made  him  his  many  friends. 

"Some  other  time,"  he  said  quietly, 
"I  will  look  at  Hermon's  manuscripts 
more  carefully." 

Phsedrus  understood  that  this  was  the 
[22] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

rich  man's  only  possible  word  of  gratitude 
in  the  presence  of  the  other  slaves. 

As  he  made  his  way  up  the  path  to 
the  house,  Phsedrus'  mind  turned  in- 
evitably towards  old  Simonides.  Plainly 
there  was  some  mystery  about  this  slave. 
He  was  lame,  he  was  stooped,  he  was 
broken  in  strength.  He  was  homely,  and 
unattractive,  yet  he  was  easily  the  favorite 
of  both  master  and  mistress.  There  was 
something  about  Simonides  that  Phsedrus 
could  not  understand.  The  other  servants 
were  stronger  and  younger,  yet  always 
they  evaded  their  work;  Simonides  in- 
variably asked  for  the  heaviest  burden. 
The  other  slaves  were  ever  looking  for 
a  quarrel,  and  when  the  brawl  became  un- 
bearable, it  was  old  Simonides  who  was 
called  in  to  settle  the  dispute. 

As  for  Phsedrus  himself,  he  made  a  con- 
stant fight  against  bitterness  and  anger. 
[23] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^EDRUS 

His  whole  being  was  poisoned  through 
and  through  with  hate.  Each  day  was 
to  him  a  sepulchre  full  of  ghastly  memories. 
Suicide  seemed  the  only  good  thing  that 
life  held.  Yet  here  was  Simonides,  old, 
crippled,  inferior  in  position,  but  who 
for  some  unaccountable  reason  was  lov- 
able, sunny,  full  of  hope,  carrying  good 
cheer,  sleeping  in  peace,  and  awakening 
to  happiness  ! 

Simonides  was  alone  in  the  library 
when  Phaedrus  returned.  The  old  slave 
had  replaced  the  last  roll,  but  he  seemed 
to  Phsedrus  to  be  lingering,  as  if  to  make 
sure  that  the  boy  suspected  nothing. 

Phsedrus  flung  himself  down  upon  the 
couch  near  the  window  and  watched  the 
old  man  as  he  moved  about  the  room. 
Mystery  there  was;  but  what  sort  of 
mystery,  what  plot,  Phsedrus  could  not 

imagine.     Somehow,  he  found  it  difficult 
[24] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

to  think  of  Simonides  plotting  any  kind 
of  treachery.  Yet  he  could  not  but  reflect 
that  an  outbreak  against  Hermon  was 
only  to  be  expected.  After  all,  to  hate 
such  a  man  was  only  natural.  With  the 
thought  came  the  desire  to  be  in  the  plot 
himself.  Hermon  had  ruined  his  father; 
had  killed  Phsedron  with  a  shower  of 
cowardly  blows;  revenge  would  be  very 
sweet  to  the  boy  who  had  suffered  many 
things  of  late  at  his  master's  hands. 

Phffidrus  was  young;  for  him,  to  think 
was  to  act,  and  he  resolved,  on  the  instant, 
to  find  out  the  secret  of  the  old  slave's 
friendship  with  the  merchant. 

"Simonides,"  he  said  suddenly,  "you 
sent  me  for  the  marble  in  the  outer 
court." 

The  old  slave  looked  up  sharply. 

"Why,"  continued  Phsedrus,  "did  you 
want  to  get  me  out  of  the  library  ?  Per- 
[25] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

haps — "  Phsedrus  hesitated  —  "it  did 
not  take  me  as  long  to  return  as  — ". 

Simonides'  face  went  white.  He 
straightened  suddenly,  made  as  if  to 
speak,  then  closed  his  lips  again. 

Phaedrus  continued,  quietly,  reflectively, 
almost  as  if  talking  to  himself. 

"Why  should  the  richest  man  in  Ephesus 
talk  confidentially  with  the  slave  of  the 
governor?  Why  should  Nicias,  the  ship- 
owner, deal  secretly  with  Simonides,  the 
servant?  Why — "  Phsedrus  dropped  his 
voice  to  a  whisper  —  "should  Nicias  be 
found  standing  with  his  arm  across  Si- 
monides' shoulder — " 

Simonides  extended  a  trembling  hand. 

"Wait!"  A  strange  note  of  authority 
was  in  his  voice,  something  Phsedrus 
had  never  heard  there  before.  "Do 
you  suppose — "  he  crossed  the  room 
swiftly  —  "do you  suppose  Hermon  would 
[26] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

believe   your   charge   of   conspiracy   if   I 
denied  it  ?    You  do  not  understand." 

He  stood  above  Phsedrus.  The  boy 
was  surprised  to  see  that  there  was  no 
anger,  no  malignancy  in  his  face. 

"You  saw  nothing!"  Simonides  went 
on.  "  If  you  try  to  prove  you  did,  you  will 
fail.  Your  word  against  Nicias'  and  mine  ! 
Which" —  Simonides  almost  seemed  to 
smile — "do  you  think  would  be  believed  ?" 

Phsedrus  touched  the  old  man's  arm. 

"You  mistake  me,"  he  said,  "I  have 
no  desire  to  betray  you.  You  are  the 
only  friend" —  Phsedrus  dwelt  lovingly 
on  the  word  —  "the  only  real  friend  I 
have  in  the  world.  But  some  secret 
there  is !  I  want  to  be  with  you.  I  am 
not  a  child.  If  there  is  to  be  a  —  if 
Hermon  is  to  be  —  if  —  " 

In  his  excitement  Phsedrus  raised  him- 
self on  the  couch. 

[27] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"Simonides,  let  me  help  you  !  Let  me 
work  with  you;  let  me  strike  a  blow 
against  the  man  we  both  hate.  You 
can  trust  me.  You  can  use  me !  I  am 
young ;  I  can  do  things  you  could  not  do  ! 
Give  me — " 

Simonides  gripped  the  boy's  shoulder. 
His  eyes  were  suddenly  full  of  light. 

"You  do  not  understand.  I  am  guilty 
of  no  plot.  There  is  to  be  no  attack  on 
Hermon.  There  is  to  be  no  bloodshed. 
There  is  —  "  His  voice  lost  its  intensity. 
"You  are  on  the  wrong  track." 

But  Phsedrus  was  not  to  be  put  off. 

"Very  well,  tell  me  your  secret !  I'll 
help  you ;  I  don't  ask  for  anything ;  I 
don't  want  any  part  of  the  — "he  hesitated 
for  a  word. 

Simonides    smiled    somewhat    bitterly. 
He  stood  silent  for  an  instant ;  then,  in  a 
whisper  he  answered :  — 
[281 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

"Listen !  this  secret  plan  is  not 
what  you  think  it  is.  It  is  a  revolution, 
but  not  the  kind  of  a  revolution  you 
hope  for.  You  may  not  want  to  join  us 
when  you  understand  Nicias.  If  it  were 
discovered  that  you  —  or  we  —  belong 
to  this  —  movement,  it  would  mean  our 
death,  yes,  death  by  torture." 

Phsedrus  nodded. 

"I  know,"  he  whispered. 

"If  I  should  take  you,"  Simonides  con- 
tinued, "to  a  secret  meeting  at  mid- 
night"—  he  gazed  piercingly  into  the 
boy's  eyes  —  "and  you  were  to  betray  us, 
it  would  mean  not  only  your  death,  but 
the  death  of  every  one  at  the  meeting ! 
For  the  soldiers  would  make  you  tell"  — 
Simonides  paused  significantly  —  "before 
you  died." 

He    stopped,    as    if    deliberating    the 

matter  in  his  own  mind. 
[29] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"It  is  a  risk,  but  everything  is  a  risk 

—  with    us."     Suddenly    he    caught    the 
boy's  arm  —  "You  will  not  betray  us  ?  " 

Phsedrus  winced  under  the  pressure  of 
the  old  man's  grasp. 

"Upon  my  honor." 

"Very  well.  I  am  one  of  the  followers  " 
— Simonides  spoke  so  low  that  Phsedrus 
barely  caught  the  words —  "of  the  'Way.' 
You  want  an  uprising  of  the  slaves.  You 
believe  in  the  knife,  the  sword,  the  club, 
poison.  But  there  is  a  better  plan.  I  am 
not  educated ;  I  cannot  explain  it,  but 
Nicias  can.  Come  with  me  to  his  house 
to-night.  There  is  to  be  a  meeting. 
Nicias  will  make  all  clear  to  you  ! "  Si- 
monides' grasp  loosened.  "I  have  been 
planning  to  take  you  with  me  for  a  long 
while.  It  is  better  to  know  the  '  Way.' "  — 
his  voice  took  on  a  note  of  reverence 

—  "than  to  have  freedom  and  gold  !  " 

[30] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

Phsedrus'  heart  was  pounding;  nothing 
had  so  moved  him  since  the  news  of  his 
father's  death.  But  he  was  still  perplexed. 

"I  will  come/'  he  whispered,  "but  I  don't 
understand.  Why  should  Nicias  invite 
you,  a  slave,  unless  it  is  a  plot  ?  Are  you 
sure" — he  glanced  up  sharply  —  "are 
you  sure  he  is  playing  fair  ?  What  if  he 
is  spying  upon  you?  Perhaps  this  is  a 
scheme  to  betray  you." 

Simonides  smiled  as  he  shook  his  head. 

"Do  not  fear  !     He  will  not  betray  us." 

A  step  sounded  in  the  court  outside. 

"If  you  play  fair  with  us,  and  keep  our 
secret  — "  Simonides  stopped,  as  the  little 
slave  boy  entered  the  room,  and  then 
moved  away.  A  bell  tinkled  in  the 
inner  court.  It  was  time  to  make  the 
final  arrangements  for  the  evening's  enter- 
tainment. 

***** 
[31] 


THE  STORY  OF  PHJ3DRUS 

Hours  later,  after  the  last  guest  had 
gone,  and  the  other  slaves  had  climbed  up 
the  pegs  set  in  the  stone  wall  to  the  little 
cubby-hole  where  they  slept,  Phsedrus  lay 
on  the  couch  in  the  library,  staring  into 
the  darkness.  His  mind  was  all  aglow  with 
excitement.  The  thought  of  the  torture 
that  might  follow  discovery  terrified  him; 
pain  and  blows  he  could  not  endure.  His 
thoughts  went  back  over  the  last  two  years ; 
he  recalled  a  slave  he  had  seen  thrown  into 
an  artificial  lake  for  spilling  wine  upon  his 
master's  garment.  The  very  memory  of 
the  thing  made  him  shiver.  One  thing 
was  sure :  Hermon  would  soon  discover 
Nicias'  plan,  and  the  old  wheat  merchant 
would  lose  his  gold,  his  silver,  and  his 
gems,  as  Phsedrus'  father  had  lost  his. 
Simonides  would  pay  the  penalty  with  his 
life,  and  other  victims  would  suffer  a 

like  punishment.    And   he  —  Phsedrus  — 
[32] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

would  he  be  among  their  number,  or  would 
he  play  the  coward  now,  to-night,  while 
there  was  yet  time  ? 

The  memory  of  his  father's  tragedy 
set  the  boy  thinking.  If  Nicias  was  to 
lose  his  treasures,  why  should  Hermon 
gain  them  ?  Why  not  he  —  Phsedrus  ? 
Why  not  outwit  the  man  who  had  once  out- 
witted his  father?  At  daybreak  a  ship 
was  to  sail  for  Rome.  His  own  hand 
but  yesterday  had  carried  a  package 
down  to  the  wharf.  With  gold  to  buy  his 
passage,  he  could  make  his  way  to  Rome 
and  find  the  place  of  hiding  in  the  crowded 
streets  of  the  capital.  Theft  was  bad, 
but  better  than  slavery  ! 

Then  Memory  waved  her  wand.  Once 
again  he  was  rich  and  free,  and  a  boy  in 
his  father's  garden.  Once  more  he  heard 
his  father  tell  him  why  he  had  chosen  the 
name  of  Phsedrus.  "It  was  because  of  all 
D  [33] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

the  books  of  Plato  I  loved  best  the  one 
called  '  Phsedrus ' ;  and  that  is  why  I  want 
you  to  commit  to  memory  these  pages 
from  the  master  Plato." 

Lying  there  on  the  couch,  Phsedrus 
closed  his  eyes  tightly  and  heard  the 
voice  of  his  father  reciting  the  old 
story. 

"One  day  Athens  was  crowded  with 
strangers.  When  the  sun  was  warm  in 
the  market-place,  Socrates  said  to  Plato 
and  Phsedrus,  'Shall  we  not  go  into 
the  country,  and  find  a  quiet  nook, 
and  there  talk  about  truth  and  justice 
and  immortality?'  And  when  they  had 
agreed,  all  made  their  way  out  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  and  came  to  the 
banks  of  the  little  river  Illyssus.  When 
they  had  found  a  grassy  spot,  and  a 
plane  tree  that  offered  shelter  from  the  sun, 
they  sat  themselves  down,  while  all  day 
[34J 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

long  Socrates  made  the  hours  travel  on 
swift  feet,  until  suddenly  the  sun  stood 
like  a  ball  of  fire  on  the  western  horizon. 

"Then  they  knew  the  time  had  come 
when  they  must  return  to  the  city,  and 
the  thought  that  this  flood  of  golden  talk 
must  cease,  made  all  silent.  When  a  few 
minutes  had  passed  by,  suddenly  Socrates 
said  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"'Phsedrus,  would  it  not  be  well  for 
us  to  say  a  prayer  to  the  gods,  before  we 
return  to  the  city  ? ' 

"And  when  Phaedrus  had  assented,  Soc- 
rates lifted  up  his  voice,  and  prayed  after 
this  manner :  — 

"'Beloved  Pan!  and  all  ye  other  gods 
who  here  abide,  grant  me  to  be  beautiful 
within ;  having  made  my  life  symmetri- 
cal without,  make  it  harmonious  within. 
Teach  me  that  the  wise  man  is  also  the 

rich  man.    Forbid  that  I  should  ever  own 
[35] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

a  wedge  of  silver,  save  such  as  an  honest 
man  can  possess.' ': 

Phsedrus  remembered  how  his  father's 
voice  trembled  when  he  came  to  this 
much  loved  passage.  Phsedron  had  sworn 
him  to  truth  and  honesty,  and  had  chosen 
the  name  out  of  love  for  an  ideal  of  honor 
handed  down  in  the  writings  of  another 
youth  of  promise. 

So  in  memory,  the  boy  Phsedrus  went 
back  to  his  old  home.  Once  more  he  wet 
his  lips  with  water  from  the  old  spring, 
and  for  a  moment,  happiness  bubbled  in 
his  heart  like  the  fountain  in  his  father's 
garden. 

And  then,  gradually,  he  came  to  himself ; 
to  the  present,  and  the  awful  thought 
that  he  was  a  slave ;  once  more  he  felt 
the  cruelty  visited  upon  the  class  to  which 
he  now  belonged ;  again  he  felt  the  sharp 
new  edge  of  ignominy  and  contempt.  If 
[36] 


A  LITERARY  SLAVE 

only  he  could  get  away,  out  of  reach  of 
this  monster  Hermon,  perhaps  to  Rome  ! 
His  mind  clung,  for  some  reason,  to  the 
thought  of  the  great  capital  of  the  empire. 
There  he  might  lose  himself,  there  he  might 
begin  life  anew,  take  his  place,  perhaps, 
in  his  own  class,  and  live  again,  for  the 
first  time  since  his  father's  death  ! 

Betray  Nicias  ?  No.  Honor  forbade 
that.  But  if  Nicias  and  the  "Way" 
could  help  him  to  escape,  then  the  mo- 
ments could  not  pass  too  swiftly  until  the 
meeting  at  Nicias'  house. 

An  hour  later,  Phsedrus  and  Simonides 
crept  softly  through  the  garden  into  the 
dark  street. 


[37] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   HOUSE   OF  NICIAS 

HE  road  was  dark, 
silent  and  deserted. 
The  two  slaves  stood  for  a  long 
time,  straining  their  ears  lest 
some  spy  be  following  them. 
Ephesus  was  asleep ;  all  life  in 
the  great  city  was  dead,  so  that 
once  clear  of  the  house,  their  risk 
.was  comparatively  small.  With 
infinite  care  they  traversed  the  first 
few  yards  away  from  the  familiar  gate ; 
then,  becoming  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness, they  abandoned  caution,  and  moved 
forward  at  a  more  rapid  pace.  There 
was  a  warm  wind  blowing;  the  air  was 
fresh  and  sweet ;  Phaedrus  found  his 
[39] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

spirits  mounting  on  wings  of    hope.     As 
yet  he  scarcely  realized  his  excitement. 

The  highway  they  were  following  was  to 
Ephesus  what  the  Appian  Way  was  to 
Rome.  For  centuries  it  had  been  the 
artery  of  commerce  for  innumerable  cara- 
vans coming  from  the  rich  interior. 
PhaBdrus  thought  of  the  heroes  who  had 
followed  this  road,  and  his  heart  beat  faster, 
and  the  blood  ran  swifter  in  his  veins. 
Along  this  way  had  gone  Xenophon,  with 
his  Ten  Thousand,  to  make  the  most 
thrilling  march  in  history.  Along  this 
road  had  passed  the  boaster,  Xerxes, 
publishing  victory  in  advance,  and  return- 
ing in  the  van  of  a  defeated  army.  Over 
this  road  also  had  gone  young  Alexander, 
to  sow  all  the  East  with  the  good  seed  of 
Greek  learning.  Here,  too,  had  passed, 
though  Phsedrus  did  not  know  it,  a  tent- 
maker,  who  was  to  prove  himself  more 
[40] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICTAS 

powerful  than  armies   and   regiments   of 
kings. 

Nicias'  villa  was  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  a  good  two  miles'  walk  from  Hermon's 
city  house.  Only  once  did  the  slaves  hear 
footsteps;  then  they  met  a  belated 
stranger,  hastening  with  his  servants  to 
reach  the  shelter  of  the  city.  Simonides 
said  little,  and  Phsedrus  did  not  attempt 
to  question  him.  In  silence  the  two  came 
to  the  stone  wall  which  enclosed  Nicias' 
garden.  Here  Simonides  left  the  high- 
road and  entered  a  lane  which  followed 
the  garden  wall  for  some  distance  back 
from  the  street.  There,  half  hidden 
among  the  vines  and  quite  invisible  to 
the  younger  man,  was  a  small  wicket 
gate.  Simonides  found  the  latch,  as  if 
familiar  with  the  place  from  long  ac- 
quaintance, and  Phsedrus,  obeying  the 
silent  pressure  of  the  old  man's  arm, 
[41] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^EDRUS 

bowed  his  head,  and  stepped  through  the 
narrow  door  into  the  garden. 

A  dark  shape  loomed  beside  him.  A 
hand  fell  upon  his  arm.  Fear  —  a  hor- 
rible fear  of  betrayal  —  flashed  through 
the  boy's  brain.  Then  Simonides 
whispered  the  password,  and  a  moment 
later  Phsedrus  found  himself  with  the  old 
slave  at  his  elbow,  feeling  his  way  in  the 
dark  along  the  gravel  path. 

At  the  door  of  the  house  the  same 
caution  was  repeated :  servants,  it  ap- 
peared, were  on  guard  at  every  entrance. 
Simonides  entered  first,  whispering  the 
watchword  in  advance ;  an  instant  later 
Phsedrus  stood  beside  him,  in  the  court  of 
the  merchant's  house. 

Even  here  there  were  no  lights. 
Phsedrus  had  a  sensation  as  of  being 
surrounded  by  people;  all  about  him 

he  caught  the  quick  breathing  of  other 
[42] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

men;  instinctively  he  felt  for  Simonides' 
arm. 

Suddenly  a  curtain  was  flung  back  from 
a  door  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 
Phsedrus  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  lighted 
room  beyond,  with  the  figure  of  the 
merchant,  Nicias,  in  the  doorway.  The 
group  moved  forward.  Phsedrus  breathed 
more  freely.  Apparently  everything  was 
planned. 

The  room  into  which  they  were  moving 
was  the  typical  room  of  the  rich  man's 
house  of  that  day.  In  the  centre  was  a 
small  fountain;  round  about  the  falling 
water  were  palms  and  brilliant  plants. 
The  floor  was  of  tessellated  marble,  the 
walls  of  terra  cotta,  and  the  frescoes  on 
the  ceiling  represented  Proserpine,  scatter- 
ing flowers,  and  Ceres,  sitting  amidst 
her  shocks  and  sheaves.  It  all  seemed 
strangely  familiar  to  Phaedrus,  —  it  was 
[43] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

so  like  the  large  court  in  the  house  where 
he  had  spent  his  childhood.  But  what 
stirred  the  note  of  wonder  was  the  group 
of  people  there. 

To  his  amazement,  he  saw  two  or  three 
of  the  richest  merchants  of  Ephesus ;  he 
saw  a  Hebrew  money-lender,  and  a  man 
of  Damascus  who  dealt  in  silks  and  rugs. 
Here,  too,  were  several  slaves,  with  the 
brand  upon  the  forehead,  and  the  hole 
cut  in  the  ear.  Here  also  were  several 
rich  Greeks  who  had  brought  their  wives 
with  them,  and  —  wonder  of  wonders  !  — 
the  men  were  greeting  these  women  as 
friends  and  equals.  Phsedrus  looked  upon 
the  scene  with  ever  increasing  amazement. 
His  experience  of  the  afternoon  had  pre- 
pared him  somewhat  for  the  presence  of 
the  slaves ;  but  to  see  women,  among  a 
company  of  men  !  Phsedrus  had  the  old 
idea  that  a  woman  should  never  be  seen 
[44] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

in  such  a  company :  it  was  unseemly. 
Yet  here  were  the  wives  of  Greek 
merchants,  and  the  daughter  of  a  money- 
lender, all  unveiled  and  talking,  appar- 
ently, with  the  greatest  freedom. 

Before  he  had  time  to  question  Simonides 
about  this,  the  others  began  to  seat  them- 
selves. The  meeting,  it  seemed,  was  about 
to  begin.  Nicias'  servant  had  brought 
in  long  divans,  and  Simonides  motioned 
Pha?drus  to  a  place  beside  him.  Their 
host  was  arranging  something  behind  the 
marble  table,  —  making  ready  for  the 
meeting. 

The  murmur  of  conversation  filled  the 
room.  Plainly  Nicias  was  waiting  for 
some  one  to  come,  before  beginning  the 
meeting.  Patrician  and  slave,  all  were 
talking  freely  together,  and  talking  as  if 
glad  of  the  opportunity.  Phsedrus'  eyes 

swept    the  little    company.    For   twenty 
[45] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

years  he  had  lived  in  a  rich  man's  house, 
and  he  knew  how  to  meet  men,  yet 
realizing  he  was  now  a  slave,  Phaedrus 
became  conscious  of  embarrassment. 

Suddenly  he  noticed   a  fresco   on  the' 
opposite   wall.     It   was   a   panel,   beauti- 
fully painted,  and  one  of  a  series  extending 
around  the  room.     Simonides  followed  the 
boy's  glance,  and  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"Begin  at  the  far  corner,"  he  said,  "the 
panels  tell  a  story." 

Phsedrus  looked.  The  first  fresco 
showed  a  house,  set  back  from  the  road 
with  the  entrance  half  hidden  by  vines 
and  flowers.  In  the  open  window  stood 
an  old  man,  looking  down  into  the  garden 
upon  a  girl,  who  was  lifting  an  apron 
filled  with  flowers.  Pride  and  love  shone 
in  the  face  of  the  father ;  purity  and  sweet- 
ness in  the  eyes  of  the  girl.  Underneath 

the  panel  was  the  word  "Innocence." 
[46] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

The  second  panel  showed  a  different 
scene,  —  an  open-air  vista,  across  a  marble 
terrace  looking  over  a  little  river.  Pleasure 
boats  were  rocking  on  the  waters;  on  the 
terrace  were  men  and  women,  eating  and 
drinking,  while  in  the  distance  groups  of 
boys  and  maidens  danced  and  sang  among 
the  trees.  But  the  heart  of  the  panel  — 
the  glowing  centre  of  attraction  —  was 
the  figure  of  a  beautiful  girl.  Plainly,  it 
was  the  same  girl  who  but  yesterday  had 
been  gathering  roses  in  her  father's  garden. 
The  white  flowers  were  swaying  and 
trembling  now;  a  youth  was  kneeling 
to  offer  a  cup  of  flattery  and  of  flame. 
Will  the  bird  be  caught  in  the  snare? 
Will  the  moth,  with  its  brilliant  wings, 
venture  too  near  the  burning  candle? 
The  theme  was  "The  Hour  of  Tempta- 
tion." 

"This  gives  the  next  chapter,"  said 
[47] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Simonides,    who    clearly   understood    the 
series. 

The  third  panel,  to  which  he  was  point- 
ing, showed  the  same  pleasure-garden,  but 
no  longer  were  there  signs  of  revelry.  A 
stranger  had  appeared,  a  young  carpenter, 
with  a  blue  robe  thrown  over  his  shoulders. 
The  eyes  of  the  crowd  had  left  the  girl  and 
were  now  turned  toward  the  newcomer. 
He  stood  in  the  foreground,  silently  look- 
ing upon  the  girl,  who  made  the  most 
brilliant  figure  in  the  scene.  Some  strange 
fascination  seemed  to  be  his, — the  players 
had  dropped  their  dice;  the  slaves  who 
had  been  carrying  fruit  and  wine  from 
guest  to  guest  were  standing  motionless ; 
the  beautiful  girl  was  leaning  forward, 
gazing  into  the  stranger's  face.  The 
teacher  was  plainly  dressed,  but  he  seemed 
to  exhale  power,  like  a  compelling  atmos- 
phere. His  face  had  a  rare,  sweet  beauty. 
[48] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

He  was  looking  at  the  girl  as  if  he  was 
through  and  beyond  her.  He  spoke  no 
word.  Pity  and  compassion  stood  in  his 
eyes,  like  angels  standing  in  an  open 
window.  Apprehension  showed  clearly  in 
the  girl's  face.  The  theme  of  this  panel 
was  "The  Coming  of  Fear." 

The  next  panel  was  very  different.  It 
showed  the  same  fair  girl,  now  seated 
in  a  ruined  hut.  Gone  the  soft,  silken 
couch  !  Gone  the  spiced  wine  and  the 
rich  foods !  Gone  the  jewels  and  the 
splendor !  The  beautiful  face  was  now 
hidden  behind  a  black  hood.  The  girl 
was  alone,  on  her  knees  and  sobbing. 

The  last  panel  pictured  another  ban- 
queting room,  this  time  in  a  merchant's 
house.  Against  the  three  sides  of  the  room 
were  couches,  on  which  the  guests  were 
reclining.  All  about,  leaning  on  the  case- 
ments of  the  open  windows,  and  filling 
•  [491 


THE  STORY  OF  PKLEDRUS 

the  halls,  stood  a  crowd  that  pressed  and 
surged  against  the  rich  man's  house. 
The  central  figure  of  the  scene  was  that 
Teacher  whose  look  had  so  strangely  dis- 
concerted the  beautiful  girl  in  the  earlier 
panel.  The  people  were  now  looking 
upon  this  man  as  upon  their  idol,  their 
hero,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  held  the 
populace  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  Near 
him,  at  the  foot  of  his  couch,  was  a  young 
girl,  a  dark  figure,  with  bowed  head. 
Instantly  Phsedrus  recognized  her  as  the 
girl  whose  career  the  other  panels  had  de- 
picted. Her  hands  clasped  the  Master's 
feet,  her  hair  fell  like  a  veil  about  her. 
As  she  knelt,  she  seemed  clothed  with  a 
dignity  and  sweetness  that  lent  double 
allurement.  Hers  was  a  fascination  that 
she  had  never  had  before,  not  even 
in  that  hour  when  she  stood  with  her 
apron  filled  with  flowers  in  her  father's 
[50] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

garden.  This  time,  the  theme  was  "The 
Return  of  Hope." 

Phsedrus  did  not  understand  the  picture. 
The  story  was  not  familiar  to  him,  and 
the  figures  in  the  last  scene  touched  no 
chord  of  association.  Simonides,  watching 
the  boy,  perceived  his  bewilderment. 

"She  was  forgiven  much,"  he  said 
softly,  "because  she  loved  much." 

Suddenly  Phsedrus  realized  that  some 
one  was  speaking,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  a 
woman,  the  sister  of  Nicias,  his  host.  The 
conversation  had  ceased ;  but  Phsedrus 
could  not  believe  the  meeting  had  really 
begun.  Filled  with  a  sense  of  wonder,  the 
Greek  boy  listened  to  the  woman's  words. 

"Whether  or  not,"  she  was  saying,  "the 
men  of  Greece  follow  the  Master,  all  the 
women  will.  Too  long  we  have  had  to 
work  in  silence,  content  to  be  neither  seen 
nor  heard  when  men  were  near.  In  my 
[51] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

childhood  I  was  always  asking  my  father 
questions,  and  in  my  youth  I  was  always 
being  told  to  keep  still  and  stay  in  my 
place.  I  remember  that  when  first  of 
all  I  heard  that  the  great  Pericles  loved 
Aspasia  because  she  was  so  wise  in  counsel, 
I  said  I  wanted  to  be  like  her;  but  my 
father  made  me  keep  silent,  urging  that 
every  woman  that  was  educated  was  also 
evil. 

"I  was  even  told  that  Sappho  wrote 
her  poems  that  she  might  the  more  easily, 
through  her  genius,  lead  men  astray. 
Without  my  father's  knowledge  I  learned 
how  to  read.  One  of  the  first  things  I 
read  was  that  page  of  Aristophanes  where 
he  says  that  there  are  only  three  kinds  of 
women :  the  gadding  woman,  who  goes 
around  gossiping  about  her  neighbors ; 
the  spendthrift  woman,  who  wastes  her 
husband's  money;  and  the  true  woman, 
[52] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

who  is  as  busy  and  as  silent  as  a  bee, 
save  when  she  uses  her  sting. 

"As  a  girl  I  used  to  hate  this  night 
because  it  was  the  time  of  the  Saturnalia ; 
now,  because  our  Master  was  born  of 
woman  on  this  night,  it  is  become  the  night 
of  nights  for  all  the  women  of  the  world. 
For  the  Master  taught  that  women  have 
a  bigger,  better  part  to  play  in  the  world ; 
He  filled  up  the  gulf  between  men  and 
women,  as  He  filled  up  that  other  gulf 
between  master  and  slave.  When  I 
learned  that,  I  knew  that  He  would  bring 
us  the  Golden  Age.  Bacchus  and  Venus 
spoil  a  woman  and  drag  her  down;  the 
Master  lifts  her  out  of  the  depths,  and 
whispers  hope,  even  to  the  lowest  flower- 
girl  on  the  streets." 

The  voice  ceased,  but  Phaedrus'  mind 
raced  on,  busy  with  this  strange  new 
suggestion,  that  woman  has  the  art  of 
[63] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

putting  things  and  can  make  harsh  laws 
gentle  and  humane. 

He  was  awakened  from  his  reflections 
by  the  voice  of  his  own  companion, 
Simonides,  addressing  the  gathering  in 
firm,  confident  tones.  It  was  clear  that 
the  old  slave  'was  speaking  in  answer  to 
some  signal  from  Nicias. 

"It  is  a  year  to-night,"  Simonides  began, 
"that  one  of  Nicias'  servants  first  brought 
me  here.  For  thirty  years  I  have  been  a 
slave.  You  think  I  am  a  very  old  man, 
because  my  hair  is  white  and  my  body 
stooped.  Well,  I  am  old,  though  hardly 
more  than  forty  years  of  age.  I  came 
here  that  first  night,  sullen,  bitter,  and  full 
of  hate.  Weeks  before,  I  had  decided  to 
kill  my  master,  and  flee  to  the  mountains. 
But  on  that  night,  I  learned  that  I  had 
been  given  a  piece  of  work  to  do,  and  I 
found  for  the  first  time  what  that  work  was. 
[54] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

"Some  of  you  pity  me  because  I  am  a 
bondsman,  old  and  broken.  But  I  tell 
you  truly  that  if  I  were  free,  I  would  get 
myself  sold  back  into  slavery  for  the 
chance  that  I  have  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
first  Christmas  night  to  my  fellow  slaves 
who  endure  the  lash  and  are  driven  like 
dogs  into  the  fields.  I  am  only  a  slave, 
but  I  have  found  out  that  life  is  not  for 
freedom  nor  for  food  nor  for  happiness; 
life  is  for  pity,  for  sympathy,  and  for  love. 
This  year  it  has  been  given  to  me  to  light 
a  torch  and  to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  a 
score  of  bondsmen  that  have  been  out  in 
the  dark  and  lost  in  the  black  night. 
Henceforth  you  must  not  pity  me.  For  a 
year  one  slave  has  been  happy  and  free 
in  his  heart." 

So  astounded  was  Phaedrus  that  he  could 
scarcely  believe  his  own  ears.  He  began  to 
realize  that  all  eloquence  is  born  of  sincerity. 
[55] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

And  now  the  spell  was  broken  by  a  group 
reentering  the  room.  Nicias  came  first, 
carrying  in  his  hands  two  golden  cups. 
By  his  side  walked  a  gray-haired  man, 
carrying  a  plate  of  white  bread.  Behind, 
came  two  others,  carrying  an  oaken  chest 
which  was  placed  upon  the  marble  table. 
It  was  the  stroke  of  midnight.  Nicias 
took  from  the  box  a  roll  of  manuscripts. 
Phsedrus'  eyes  were  quick;  he  saw  that 
the  rolls  were  yellow  and  broken,  sadly 
stained  by  travel  and  much  use.  Nicias 
handled  the  rolls  as  if  they  were  title 
deeds,  ensuring  nothing  less  than  a  throne 
to  his  heirs.  When  all  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  chest  and  its  treasures,  the  mer- 
chant held  up  his  hand  and  began  to 
speak. 

"For  reasons  of  safety  we  have  long 
been  separated.  But  this  night  is  the 
Holy  Night,  on  which  we  feel  it  right  to 
[56] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

take  great  peril  upon  ourselves.  To- 
morrow is  December  the  twenty-fifth,  and 
Ephesus  will  celebrate  the  Saturnalia. 
Other  men  will  welcome  the  day  with  feasts 
and  sports  and  orgies.  We,  too,  will 
greet  the  morn,  but  we  will  welcome  it 
upon  our  knees,  and  with  tears  of  grati- 
tude, for  on  this  night  of  nights  joy  had 
its  real  birth.  This  night  last  year 
found  some  of  you  masters,  while  some 
of  you  were  slaves.  But  he  who  was  born 
on  this  holy  night  filled  up  that  chasm, 
and  made  master  and  slave  to  be  brothers 
and  friends. 

"You  know  that  this  meeting  is  illegal, 
that  if  it  were  known,  we  would  all  be 
punished  by  death.  But  in  the  hope  of 
bringing  happiness  to  others,  you  have 
taken  your  lives  in  your  hands,  and  gladly 
do  you  run  this  risk.  You  wish  to  hear 
again  the  story  of  this  night,  and  why  it  is 
[57] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

that  on  the  eve  of  His  birth  we  have 
counted  life  itself  not  dear  to  us,  that  we 
might  celebrate  His  coming  to  our  earth." 

The  old  man  lifted  a  little  square  piece 
of  goatskin  and  holding  a  torch  above  his 
head  began  to  read. 

"And  there  were  shepherds  abiding  in 
the  field,  keeping  watch  over  their  flocks 
by  night.  And  the  angel  said  unto  them, 
'Fear  not,  for  behold  I  bring  you  tidings 
of  great  joy,  that  shall  be  to  all  people. 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on  earth 
peace  and  good-will  toward  men.' " 

When  the  voice  of  the  old  merchant 
stayed,  Phsedrus  saw  that  the  little  group 
seemed  in  a  rapture,  lifted,  as  it  were, 
quite  out  of  themselves.  The  two  waxen 
tapers,  standing  in  their  iron  sockets,  shed 
a  pale  light  upon  the  scene,  but  Nicias' 
face  seemed  to  glow,  as  he  looked  upward 
like  one  who  saw  the  heavens  opened. 
[58] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

Then  a  servant  entered,  leading  a  little 
child.  Nicias  stooped,  and  taking  the 
boy  in  his  arms,  turned  toward  the  group 
and  began  once  more  to  speak. 

"  This  is  also  the  night  of  joy  for  children, 
as  it  is  the  night  of  the  Saturnalia  for  the 
men  of  Ephesus.  Hitherto  our  philoso- 
phers have  undervalued  little  children. 
Our  Plato  would  have  had  us  strangle  the 
weak  babe,  and  leave  the  sick  child  to 
be  exposed  in  the  public  square  for  any  one 
who  cared  to  take  it  and  rear  it  as  a  slave. 
Even  the  Roman,  Cicero,  criticised  his 
friend  for  sorrow  over  the  death  of  a  child 
who  was  too  young  to  work.  But  the 
Master  told  the  little  children  to  come  unto 
Him,  and  we  are  trying  to  rear  these 
children  who  have  been  deserted  by  their 
parents.  This  boy,  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  slave  dealer,  is  like  a  lamb  rescued 
from  the  eagle  and  the  wolf." 
[59] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

The  old  man  spread  out  his  hands,  and 
touched  the  little  forehead  with  a  drop  of 
water.  "My  child/'  he  said,  "I  dedicate 
you  to  the  pure  heart  and  the  gentle  spirit ! 
With  this  new  name,  I  dedicate  you  to 
righteousness,  joy,  and  peace  !  I  dedicate 
you  to  God  your  Father,  to  the  Master 
and  Saviour  of  men." 

Phsedrus  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  excited.  He  was  utterly  unable  to 
make  out  what  all  these  things  might 
mean.  He  had  never  before  heard  of  the 
teachings  of  this  new  Teacher,  and  the 
strangeness  of  His  doctrines  struck  him  like 
a  blow.  But  it  was  plain  that  this  slain 
leader  had  achieved  a  very  miracle  of  influ- 
ence over  His  followers.  That  influence 
seemed  to  him  unexplainable ;  Phsedrus 
found  it  almost  impossible  to  believe  that 
these  people  could  have  loved  their  lost 
leader  and  yet  linger  so  affectionately  over 
[60] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

his  death.  It  was  as  if  they  fondled  that 
awful  tragedy,  and  loved  to  rehearse  it 
over  and  over  to  themselves !  But  he 
knew  right  well  that  they  had  taken  life 
itself  into  their  hands;  that  one  hint  to 
his  own  master  would  mean  their  arrest, 
the  confiscation  of  their  property,  and  their 
certain  death.  Many  a  slave  would  have 
given  anything  to  have  had  his  chance 
to  betray  Nicias  and  the  other  rich  men 
of  this  little  gathering. 

Singularly  enough,  the  thought  of  play- 
ing false  no  longer  seriously  entered  his 
mind. 

But  one  thought  did  burn  in  his  brain, 
and  set  his  heart  beating  fast.  To-morrow 
at  daybreak  the  imperial  ship  would  sail 
for  Rome,  and  it  was  the  last  ship  of  the 
winter.  And  here,  within  the  reach  of 
his  hand,  was  a  table  holding  a  cup  of 
solid  gold,  two  silver  plates,  a  purse  filled 
[61] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

with  offerings  of  gold  and  silver.  Here, 
also,  were  rolls  and  a  piece  of  goatskin 
for  which  Nicias  must  have  given  much 
treasure.  The  hour  was  midnight, — dark- 
ness was  abroad,  and  escape  would  not  be 
difficult.  What  could  be  easier  than  to 
slip  into  the  shadows  of  the  garden  and, 
after  the  others  had  gone,  return  and 
take  this  treasure?  The  god  of  fortune 
might  never  offer  another  such  door  of 
escape. 

It  was  at  this  very  moment  that  one  of 
Nicias'  servants  entered  hurriedly,  and 
whispered  something  in  the  merchant's 
ear.  Nicias'  son  sprang  up  and  left  the 
room.  Instinctively  the  group  of  people 
rose  to  their  feet.  Voices  sounded  in 
another  room.  The  agitation  spread. 
Nicias'  son  returned.  He  held  up  his 
hands  for  silence. 

"My  brothers,"  he  said,  with  a  voice 
[62] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

trembling  with  excitement,  "there  is  some 
one  at  the  front  gate. 

"It  may  be  a  belated  acquaintance.  But 
we  cannot  be  too  careful.  Let  all  the 
lights  be  extinguished.  Let  no  one  speak. 
I  will  lead  the  way  down  the  path  to  the 
gate  in  the  rear  of  the  garden.  Our  men 
will  see  that  there  is  no  one  in  the  lane. 
Then,  if  there  is  no  danger,  at  intervals  of 
a  few  minutes  each,  let  each  one  go  softly 
into  the  street,  and  find  his  way  to  bis 
own  home." 

The  excitement  was  intense.  Every 
follower  knew  his  peril.  A  little  child 
began  to  sob  with  fear.  Phsedrus  heard  a 
woman's  voice  quieting  that  fear. 

A  fierce  joy  rose  in  the  heart  of  the 
literary  slave.  What  incredible  good  for- 
tune had  suddenly  come  !  Phsedrus  was 
the  last  to  leave  the  room.  Nicias  had 
gone  to  the  front  gate,  his  son  was  already 
[63] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

in  the  garden ;  both  had  forgotten  the 
treasure  on  the  table.  The  opportunity 
for  which  the  youth  had  longed  with 
exceeding  longing  had  suddenly  arrived. 

He  put  out  his  hand  in. the  dark  and 
found,  on  a  chair,  the  cloak  that  Nicias' 
son  had  left  behind.  As  he  slipped  the 
garment  over  his  shoulders,  he  dis- 
covered, on  the  inside,  a  great  pocket. 
With  a  mind  stimulated  to  sudden  ac- 
tivity he  recalled  seeing  a  silk  scarf  lying 
on  a  divan  in  one  corner.  Quickly  he 
felt  his  way  across  the  room ;  with 
trembling  fingers  he  caught  up  the  scarf 
and  stuffed  it  into  the  wide  pocket  of  the 
cloak ;  then  he  felt  his  way  back  to  the  table 
with  its  treasure.  Carefully  he  grasped 
the  golden  cup  and  silver  plates,  and 
dropped  them,  one  by  one,  into  the  silken 
resting  place.  In  the  dark,  his  hand  struck 
the  rolls  which  Nicias  had  been  reading ; 
[64] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  NICIAS 

he  remembered  their  probable  value,  and 
slipped  them  under  his  cloak. 

A  moment  later  he  overtook  the  little 
company,  now  far  down  the  garden  path. 
Soon  came  the  whispered  news  that  the 
street  was  quiet.  Hidden  in  the  shadows, 
Phaedrus  waited  until  the  little  group  had 
melted  into  the  night.  He  went  out 
last  of  all,  and  paused,  with  a  sense  of 
immeasurable  relief,  while  the  gate  clicked 
to  behind  him.  With  scarcely  a  breath, 
much  less  a  sound,  he  crept  softly  into  the 
dark,  that  he  might  avoid  the  old  slave 
Simonides.  On  the  other  side  of  the  lane 
was  an  untilled  field ;  he  felt  for  the  wall 
with  his  hands,  and  climbed  carefully  over, 
dropping  down,  breathless,  upon  the  dead 
grass.  There  he  lay,  waiting  until  the  high- 
road should  be  once  more  deserted,  that 
he  might  make  his  way  to  the  wharf  and 
board  the  ship  that  was  to  sail  for  Rome. 
F  [65] 


OPN1MONIDES 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    STRATEGY   OF   SIMONIDES 

HEN    Phaedrus  finally 
reached  the  wharf,  it 
was  still  a  great  while 
before  day.   The  night 
was  dark,  and  the  wind 
out  of  the  mountains 
cut  like  a  knife,  but  he 
shivered  less  with  fear  than 
with    nervous     excitement. 
The  boy   fully  realized  his 
danger. 

Some  of  the  sailors  were 
standing  about  a  fire  which 
they  had  kindled  upon  the  pavement,  and 
Phaedrus  could  see  them    stretching    out 
their    hands    toward    the    flame.      Other 
[67] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

sailors  were  carrying  the  last  of  the  cargo 
aboard  the  ship.  Suddenly  a  chance  word 
caught  Phsedrus'  ear.  The  tide,  said  the 
voice,  would  be  full  at  daybreak ;  they 
would  sail  shortly  after  sunrise. 

Plainly,  whatever  Phsedrus  did  must  be 
done  quickly.  Fortunately  he  knew  some- 
thing about  the  shipping  office.  No  ship 
left  Ephesus  for  Rome  without  his  master's 
sending  some  letters  to  be  forwarded  to  the 
home  office. 

With  quick  resolve,  he  drew  about  his 
shoulders  the  cloak  that  he  had  taken  from 
the  chair  in  Nicias'  house.  The  texture 
was  soft  to  his  fingers ;  he  knew  that  this 
was  a  gentleman's  cloak,  and  it  made  him 
feel  rich  and  free  again.  In  shaking  off 
the  garb  of  the  slave,  he  had  shaken  off  all 
feeling  of  subservience  with  it. 

There  were  two  or  three  men  in  the 
shipping-office,  preparing  their  final  papers 
[68] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

for  the  city  officials.  In  a  socket 
against  the  wall  stood  a  huge  wax  torch, 
and  the  waving  flame  threw  a  weak, 
flickering  light  into  the  corners  of  the 
little  room.  Standing  at  a  table  was  a 
gray-haired  man.  Something  in  his 
appearance  startled  Phsedrus.  He  seemed 
strangely  familiar,  and  the  boy  waited 
in  some  anxiety  for  him  to  turn  his 
face. 

He  did  not  have  to  wait  long ;  the  man 
turned,  and  Phsedrus  saw,  with  a  great 
shock,  that  this  was  the  gray-haired  guest 
who  had  carried  in  the  cups  and  plates, 
assisting  Nicias  in  that  ceremony  in  the 
house  of  the  old  wrheat  merchant  a  few 
hours  before.  For  a  single  moment  the 
boy  lost  all  self-control.  The  blood 
pounded  in  his  ears. 

Did  swifter  vengeance  ever  overtake 
a  crime?  There  were  thousands  of  men 
[69] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

in  Ephesus ;  why  was  it  that  almost  the 
only  man  who  could  do  him  damage  stood 
here,  between  himself  and  the  trip  to 
Rome? 

The  voice  of  the  man  quickly  brought 
him  to  his  senses. 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you,  this  cold 
morning?" 

The  voice  was  pleasant ;  the  agent  had 
not  recognized  his  customer.  A  wave  of 
relief  swept  over  the  young  slave.  Hope 
was  not  yet  gone. 

Phsedrus  swallowed  hard,  and  found 
his  voice. 

"I  wish  to  obtain  a  passage  to  Rome." 

"This  ship  does  not  go  directly  to 
Rome.  We  put  in  at  Crete  to-morrow 
night,  and  from  there  we  sail  for 
Puteoli.  From  that  city,  you  can  take 
a  carriage  up  to  Rome,  if  you  wish  to 
journey  by  land." 

[70] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

Phaedrus  nodded,  "I  will  take  a  passage 
to  Puteoli." 

He  placed  a  piece  of  gold  upon  the 
counter,  and  while  the  man  turned  to 
prepare  the  receipt,  tried  to  pull  himself 
together.  Never  had  a  pendulum  swung 
so  swiftly  from  dark  to  light,  from  fear 
to  hope.  He  had  escaped,  but  only  by 
a  hair's  breadth.  And  then  the  youth 
began  to  reflect :  — 

What  if  this  gray-haired  man  knew  that 
in  this  bundle  at  his  feet  were  the  rolls 
Nicias  held  so  dear !  What  if  he  but 
dreamed  that  this  very  piece  of  gold  with 
which  he  was  paying  his  passage  had  been 
given  as  a  thank-offering  at  that  cele- 
bration, a  few  hours  before?  Why,  this 
signet-ring  might  have  once  belonged  to 
the  gray-haired  man  himself !  Surely  if 
the  cup  and  rolls  and  plate  could  ever 
speak,  they  must  break  into  protest  now. 
[711 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

The  man's  voice  startled  him  again. 

"Your  city?" 

Phsedrus  caught  his  breath. 

"I  am  of  Mitylene." 

"And  your  name?" 

Phsedrus  had  foreseen  that  question. 

"You  may  register  me  as  Phaedron,  a 
Greek  merchant." 

The  man  looked  up  swiftly. 

"Phrsedron  of  Mitylene?  Why,  that  is 
strange  !  For  years  we  shipped  goods  for 
a  man  named  Phsedron  from  Mitylene. 
He  had  an  agent  in  Ostia,  and  another  in 
Rome.  Are  you  of  his  family?  I  knew 
him  well." 

In  his  emotion,  Phsedrus  almost  forgot 
his  peril.  This  man  had  known  his 
father  !  Had  talked  with  him,  had  known 
how  true  and  just  a  man  he  was  !  The 
thought  was  like  a  stab  in  the  heart. 
Now  he  must  deceive  his  father's  friend. 
[72] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

The  flash  of  lightning  lasts  but  for  a 
second,  but  it  is  long  enough  to  show 
a  traveller  how  near  he  stands  to  the 
precipice. 

Phsedrus  recovered  himself  with  an  effort. 

"Phsedron  was  my  father/'  he  answered. 
"He  suffered  grievous  wrong.  He  injured 
no  man,  least  of  all  the  Emperor.  I  am 
going  to  Rome  to  try  and  right  his  wrong, 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  known  upon  the 
ship."  He  paused.  "I  am  in  great 
trouble.  I  do  not  know  what  to  do." 

He  recalled,  suddenly,  the  watchword  old 
Simonides  had  used.  With  the  inspiration 
of  the  desperate  man,  he  lifted  his  hand 
and  said  with  lowered  voice,  — 

"I,  too,  belong  to  the  'Way.'" 

A  look  of  fear,  and  then  of  pleasure, 
swept  over  the  agent's  face.  Impulsively 
he  extended  his  hands. 

"No  follower  of  the  Way,   who  is  in 
[73] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

danger/'  he  said,  "need  ask  twice  for  help. 
Come  !  I  will  see  you  on  board  the  ship." 

And  after  a  few  whispered  words,  he  took 
Phsedms  by  the  arm  and  led  him  past  the 
group  of  sailors  about  the  fire,  out  to  the 
narrow  gang-plank  and  aboard  the  boat. 

Meanwhile,  Simonides,  the  slave,  knew 
nothing  of  the  whereabouts  of  Phaedrus. 
He  was  in  great  distress.  When  Nicias 
had  warned  his  guests  of  their  peril, 
Simonides  had  been  among  the  last  to 
pass  through  the  garden  gate  into  the 
street  beyond.  Once  in  the  highway,  the 
old  slave  had  kept  close  to  the  wall,  waiting 
anxiously  for  Phaedrus  to  appear.  The 
minutes  passed  but  slowly,  as  he  strained 
his  eyes,  searching  for  the  dim  form  that 
did  not  come.  Once  he  thought  he  heard 
the  rustle  of  steps,  but  later  he  decided  it 
must  have  been  the  going  of  the  wind  in 
the  trees.  The  old  man  was  thinly  clad, 
[74] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

and  the  night  was  cold  and  biting,  but  he 
scarcely  realized  his  own  suffering.  He 
grew  more  and  more  fearful  lest  the  soldiers 
had  discovered  the  secret  meeting  and 
Pha3drus  had  been  found  in  Nicias'  house. 
But  there  was  nothing  he  could  do,  and  at 
last,  as  there  seemed  to  be  no  lights  nor 
noise  about  the  house,  he  concluded  that 
there  could  have  been  no  discovery  and 
that  on  coming  out  he  must  have  missed 
the  boy.  He  started,  therefore,  to  make 
his  way  back,  alone,  to  his  master's  house. 
From  the  first  hour  of  Phsedrus'  entrance 
into  Hermon's  household,  Simonides  had 
set  his  heart  on  winning  the  gifted  youth 
to  the  new  faith.  He  knew  that  he  him- 
self was  old,  ugly,  and  ignorant.  It  was 
certain  that  he  would  die  without  seeing 
many  things  that  he  longed  to  see  ac- 
complished. But  Phsedrus  was  young, 
born  in  a  rich  man's  house,  a  student,  and 
[75] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

something  of  an  artist  as  well.  What 
Simonides  could  never  do,  Phsedrus  could 
easily  achieve.  And  long  after  the  old 
slave  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  life,  the 
boy  would  have  years  in  which  to  toil. 

It  had  been  with  infinite  hope  that 
Simonides  had  faced  the  thought  of  the 
secret  meeting;  and  now  his  disappoint- 
ment was  the  greater.  Just  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  meeting  had  come  the  signal 
of  danger  and  alarm.  They  might  not 
meet  again  for  weeks  or  even  months, 
and  no  one  knew  what  might  happen 
meanwhile.  At  best  the  time  had  been 
all  too  short  for  winning  the  boy  to  the 
new  faith.  Simonides  was  a  keen  ob- 
server, and  he  knew  that  more  skill  is 
needed  to  convince  the  trained  mind  than 
to  persuade  an  ignorant  slave. 

Stirred  by  these  thoughts,  the  old  slave 
hurried  along  the  dark  road  and  came  to 
[76] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

the  gate  of  Hermon's  garden.  Even  now, 
Phsedrus  might  be  there,  waiting  for  him ; 
that  thought  cheered  him.  But  there 
was  no  Phsedrus  at  the  wall,  nor  did  Si- 
monides  find  any  sign  that  the  boy  had 
been  there.  Feeling  about  under  the 
leaves,  he  discovered  the  key  to  the  gate, 
just  where. he  had  left  it.  For  a  long  time 
he  stood  listening,  hoping  to  catch  some 
sound  of  Phsedrus'  approach ;  but  at 
length,  cherishing  the  faint  hope  that  the 
boy  had  already  arrived  and  gone  to  bed,  he 
opened  the  gate,  turned  the  huge  latch 
and  pushed  the  key  back,  where  Phsedrus, 
if  he  had  not  come  in,  would  surely  find  it. 
Then  he  crept  softly  up  the  path  to  the 
slaves'  quarters. 

Again  he  was  disappointed.     Phsedrus' 
pallet   was   undisturbed.     With    ever   in- 
creasing anxiety  the  old  man  tried  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  sleep.     An  hour  passed, 
[77] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

and  he  assured  himself  that  the  boy  had 
merely  lost  his  way,  and  would  appear  at 
any  moment.  Another  hour  went  by, 
and  still  no  Phsedrus  came.  Racked  by 
fear,  Simonides  tossed  on  his  hard  bed, 
all  kinds  of  dreadful  possibilities  looming 
before  his  mind.  The  dawn  came,  but 
with  it  no  Phasdrus ;  the  little  room 
began  to  grow  light ;  Simonides  lay 
staring  with  open  eyes  at  the  blank  wall 
above  his  head.  A  cock  crowed  some- 
where ;  a  caravan,  starting  out  upon  the 
long  journey  into  the  interior,  moved 
noisily  through  the  misty  street  outside 
the  house ;  Simonides  rose  unsteadily  and 
crept  down  to  the  garden  gate.  The  key 
was  still  where  he  had  left  it,  half  hidden 
among  the  leaves. 

If  he  had  only  known  it,  the  messenger 
who  had  disturbed  the  meeting  had  been 
neither  spy  nor  soldier,  but  a  sailor  sent 
[781 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

from  the  wharf  to  announce  the  arrival  of 
one  of  Nicias'  ships  come  from  Alexandria. 
Within  an  hour,  the  household  had  quieted 
down,  and  not  until  at  dawn,  when  the 
servants  began  their  work,  did  one  of 
them  discover  that  a  thief  had  entered 
the  house. 

The  news  was  a  terrible  blow  to  Nicias. 
For  years  he  had  gone  up  and  down  the 
world,  searching  out  one  disciple  after 
another,  that  by  conversation  he  might 
feed  the  flame  of  faith  and  enthusiasm. 
Now,  in  one  night,  his  treasures  were 
gone.  It  took  but  a  glance  to  see  that 
the  disappearance  of  the  precious  manu- 
scripts was  the  result  of  theft  and  not 
of  carelessness.  Gone,  the  gold  cup ; 
gone,  also,  the  sheet  of  goatskin  with 
its  story  of  the  first  Christmas  !  Gone 
the  silver  plates,  but  gone,  too,  the  letters 
of  that  scarred  hero,  Paul.  Weak  and 
[79J 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

trembling,  Nicias  sought  the  nearest 
couch.  The  whole  world,  turned  into 
one  flashing  diamond,  would  have  seemed 
as  nothing  for  value,  over  against  the 
two  little  rolls  that  had  been  but  yes- 
terday in  the  old  chest.  For  a  moment 
the  sun  passed  under  a  cloud  whose 
blackness  Nicias  thought  would  never 
end. 

And  then  the  merchant  remembered 
his  associates.  Perhaps  some  spy  had 
obtained  access  to  the  meeting,  and  had 
carried  away  the  rolls  to  be  used  against 
them.  Perhaps  this  enemy  had  listened 
to  their  conversation,  and  taken  the  names 
of  all  the  friends  who  belonged  to  the  Way. 
Perhaps,  even  now,  warrants  might  be 
prepared  for  their  arrest  and  subsequent 
death.  His  associates  must  be  warned  im- 
mediately. Time  there  still  might  be  for 
them  to  flee.  As  for  the  slaves,  the  very 
[80] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

thought  of  what  they  might  suffer  blanched 
Nicias'  face,  and  all  but  stopped  his 
heart. 

A  little  later  Nicias'  son  was  in  the 
street,  making  his  way  toward  the  home 
of  the  other  followers  to  give  them  warn- 
ing. Meanwhile,  Nicias  recalled  Simon- 
ides,  and  having  made  plans  for  the  rest, 
sent  a  messenger  to  the  governor's  house, 
in  the  hope  that  the  servant  would  find 
the  old  disciple  was  keeping  the  gate,  or 
might  be  near  the  entrance  to  the  govern- 
or's house.  And  so  it  fell  out. 

But  scarcely  had  the  messenger  told  of 
the  disaster  and  departed,  before  old 
Simonides  realized  that  there  was  a  reason 
why  Phsedrus  had  not  returned. 

The  youth  whom  he  had  tried  to  be- 
friend had  played  him  false.  The  boy 
from  whom  he  felt  he  could  not  hope  too 
much  had  become  a  thief,  perhaps  a  spy 
G  [81] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

and  an  informer.  When  he  thought  of 
Phsedrus'  stealing  the  rolls  it  seemed  to 
old  Simonides  as  if  an  enemy  had  tried 
to  snatch  from  Michael's  hand  his  golden 
spear  and  his  robe  of  light. 

He  himself  had  led  Phsedrus  to  Nicias' 
house.  Should  the  wheat  merchant  be 
arrested,  and  his  family  suffer  death,  he 
would  always  feel  that  having  received 
the  most  of  happiness  from  them,  he  had 
brought  upon  them  the  most  of  pain  and 
anguish  in  return.  Simonides  forgot  his 
own  risk,  in  the  thought  of  the  fearful 
consequences  Phsedrus'  deed  might  bring 
upon  the  others. 

Then,  as  in  a  flash,  the  old  slave  realized 
what  had  taken  place.  Different  sen- 
tences of  Phsedrus'  came  together  and  took 
their  places,  like  the  broken  bits  of  glass 
that  unite  to  make  a  portrait  in  a  window. 
Simonides  began  to  understand  why  Phse- 
[821 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

drus  had  spoken  of  the  boat  sailing  at  day- 
break. He  remembered  also  Phsedrus' 
suggestion  about  flight  and  the  risk  of 
recapture,  his  inquiry  as  to  whether 
Simonides  knew  where  his  master  Hermon 
kept  his  gold.  He  recalled  how,  the  night 
before,  when  the  beakers  and  the  offer- 
ings were  on  the  table,  Phaedrus  had 
clutched  his  arm  in  excitement.  It  was 
all  as  simple  as  sunshine.  Undoubtedly 
Phsedrus,  without  realizing  the  enormity 
of  his  crime,  had  stolen  the  treasure  and 
was  about  to  escape  by  ship  to  Rome. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more 
convinced  was  Simonides  that  this  was 
the  explanation  of  what  had  happened. 
He  recalled  a  dozen  little  incidents  that  had 
occurred  in  the  course  of  the  preceding 
week ;  incidents  which  had  meant  nothing 
to  him  at  the  time,  but  which  now  fitted 
marvellously  into  the  completed  picture. 
[83J 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

The  boy's  interest  in  Rome,  his  anxiety 
to  do  errands  that  took  him  to  the 
wharves  and  the  ships ;  questions  dropped 
from  time  to  time  concerning  the  cost  of 
sea-travel  and  the  like.  Only  the  day 
before;  he  had  betrayed  a  knowledge  of 
sea  routes  and  harbors  that  had  astounded 
the  old  man. 

Well,  and  if  this  was  the  explanation  ? 
The  idea  was  at  once  torture  and  relief. 
Torture,  because  it  meant  that  the  rolls 
were  gone ;  relief,  because  it  meant  no 
great  danger  to  the  followers  of  the  Way. 
Simonides  clung  to  his  love  for  the  boy ; 
PhaBdrus  had  said  he  would  not  betray 
them,  and  Simonides  felt  sure  that  he 
would  keep  his  word. 

The  situation  was  a  very  delicate  one. 

In   all   probability,   the  boy  was   already 

aboard  the  ship.     If  he  was  to  be  caught 

and  induced  to  give  up  the  precious  rolls, 

[84] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

he  must  be  found  and  interviewed  in 
secret.  Public  capture  would  mean  dis- 
covery of  the  rolls ;  questioning  might 
bring  possible  betrayal  of  part,  if  not  all, 
of  their  great  secret. 

Simonides  remembered  with  a  start  that 
he  alone  knew  what  had  happened.  He 
must  act,  and  quickly.  A  few  moments 
later  he  stood  in  the  governor's  presence. 
Hermon  was  furiously  angry.  He  had 
letters  that  he  wished  to  send  to  the  boat 
for  Rome,  and  he  had  decided  to  rewrite 
them.  Twice  a  messenger  had  gone  to 
the  library  for  Phaedrus,  but  had  found 
the  room  empty.  Slaves  were  running 
everywhither  in  search  of  the  young  Greek. 
Some  of  the  women  were  wringing  their 
hands  in  fear,  for  they  knew  what  penalty 
might  be  visited  upon  the  boy.  Hitherto, 
because  Phsedrus  was  a  Greek,  and  his 
father  had  been  a  rich  man,  Hermon  had 
[85] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

allowed  his  literary  slave  to  go  without 
the  usual  sign  of  indignity,  the  hole  bored 
in  the  ear.  But  now  the  boy  Phaedrus 
might  suffer  every  possible  form  of  stigma 
and  disgrace. 

In  their  excitement,  the  slaves  searched 
the  garden,  the  granaries,  the  stable,  the 
outbuildings,  but  all  in  vain.  And  then 
the  thing  happened  that  old  Simon- 
ides  had  feared.  On  the  day  before,  the 
governor  had  dictated  his  letters  to  the 
home  government,  and  had  directed 
Phsedrus  to  see  that  they  were  sent  to  the 
ship  that  was  to  sail.  The  slave  had 
fled,  and  was  without  doubt  upon  that  very 
ship,  —  and  in  a  fury  of  anger  Hermon 
shouted  for  his  litter.  He  bade  a  slave 
run  quickly  and  hold  the  vessel  until  he 
could  come. 

Simonides  saw  his  opportunity.  He 
stepped  forward,  and  in  his  gentle  voice 
[86] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

volunteered  to  take  the  message  himself. 
Hermon  glared  at  him  an  instant,  while 
every  slave  in  the  room  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  what  might  happen.  Then, 
oddly  enough,  the  soldier's  mood  changed. 
He  grunted  a  rough  assent;  and,  as  Si- 
monides  turned  to  go,  roared  after  him,  in 
characteristic  fashion :  — 

"Well  —  there's  always  one  slave  in 
this  good-for-nothing  pack  of  hounds  who 
is  willing  to  do  something  for  his  old 
master !" 

***** 

Down  at  the  wharf,  the  captain  of  the 
ship  was  making  ready  to  cast  off.  From 
his  place  by  the  cabin-window,  Ph^drus 
had  watched  the  sun  rise  slowly  in  the 
morning  sky,  and  the  street  begin  to  fill 
with  people.  There  were  a  score  of 
sailors  aboard  the  little  vessel,  and  a 
multitude  of  women  and  children  had 
[87] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

assembled  on  the  wharf  to  wish  them 
a  good  voyage.  Venders  of  fruit  and 
sweetmeats  were  there,  shouting  their 
wares.  Merchants  were  there,  to  see  that 
the  ship  that  carried  their  little  treasure 
had  a  good  start.  The  Roman  soldiers 
were  there,  looking  wistfully  toward  the 
boat  that  soon  would  touch  the  shores  of 
Italy. 

Suddenly,  Phaedrus  saw  old  Simonides 
pushing  through  the  crowd  on  the  wharf. 
Instantly  the  boy  flung  himself  back  from 
the  little  window.  Hope  died  within  him ; 
his  courage  seemed  to  shrivel  up ;  he 
began  to  tremble  violently. 

So  it  had  all  been  in  vain  !  The  theft 
had  been  discovered ;  both  Nicias  and 
Simonides  knew  that  he  could  not  betray 
them  without  condemning  himself  as 
well,  and  now  they  were  going  to  take 
advantage  of  the  situation.  For  the  sake 
[88] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

of  the  golden  cup,  the  two  silver  plates 
and  the  two  little  rolls,  they  were  about 
to  risk  their  own  lives  and  the  lives  of 
their  friends.  All  the  bitterness  of  de- 
spair welled  up  in  the  boy's  throat. 
They  were  persecuting  him  ! 

Steps  rang  on  the  deck  above  him ;  he 
heard  the  sound  of  mingled  voices,  and 
then  of  some  one  climbing  down  the  com- 
panion-way. A  cold  sweat  broke  out 
upon  the  boy's  forehead.  He  was  caught ! 
He  must  go  back,  —  back  to  the  shame, 
the  drudgery  and  the  humiliation  !  Every- 
thing in  him  steeled  at  the  thought.  Well, 
it  should  not  be  without  a  struggle  !  His 
enemies  had  him  in  the  corner,  now,  with 
his  back  against  the  wall,  and  like  the 
trapped  wolf  he  would  fight  for  his 
liberty. 

The  cabin  door  opened.  Simonides 
stood  on  the  threshold.  He  was  very  pale ; 
[89] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

his  whole  frame  shook  as  he  gasped  for 
breath.  He  looked  strangely  old  and 
feeble.  Phsedrus  stiffened  to  meet  his 
denunciation. 

Simonides  said  not  a  word.  For  the 
second  time  in  twenty-four  hours,  Phaedrus 
was  surprised  to  see  that  there  was  neither 
hate  nor  anger  in  the  old  slave's  eyes  ! 
Only  reproach,  —  understanding  and  re- 
proach. A  sense  of  shame  stole  over  the 
boy.  For  an  instant  he  was  back  in  his 
boyhood,  meeting  the  same  expression 
in  the  eyes  of  his  own  father.  A  weak- 
ness came  over  him ;  he  understood,  with 
a  great  rush  of  feeling,  that  the  old  man 
loved  him  !  He  dropped  his  eyes. 

Then  Simonides  spoke. 

"The  governor's  men  are  coming. 
They  will  search  the  ship.  I  have  talked 
—  with  the  captain  and  he  will  —  put 

you  —  into  one  of  the  fishing  boats  and 
[90] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

cover  you  with  tarpaulin.  The  fishing 
boat  —  will  be  towed  as  far  as  —  Samos  — 
then  you  can  return  to  the  ship." 

Phsedrus  straightened.  Then  he  was 
to  escape !  The  theft  was  still  undis- 
covered !  A  wave  of  joy  and  thankful- 
ness ran  through  him.  His  heart  leaped. 
Hope  sang  once  more  within  him. 

He  looked  at  Simonides.  Tears  were 
running  down  the  old  man's  cheeks.  His 
lips  were  moving,  his  features  working, 
his  hands  fumbling  blindly  against  the 
door  for  support. 

The  old  man  knew !  Knew,  and  was 
helping  him  to  escape  ! 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Phsedrus 
tried  to  speak,  but  could  not.  A  lump 
was  in  his  throat ;  try  as  he  would,  he 
could  not  command  himself.  Outside, 
the  voice  of  the  crowd  rose  discordantly 
from  the  wharf :  fruit  venders  crying 
[911 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

their  wares  ;  friends  calling  shrilly  to  the 
sailors  on  the  ship  ;  soldiers  shouting  rough 
jests  at  the  men  busy  with  the  ropes. 
Phsedrus  heard  nothing.  He  was  thinking, 
suddenly,  of  what  Simonides  was  doing 
for  him.  The  old  man  was  risking  his 
life  —  PhaBdrus  knew  that  —  for  the  boy 
who  had  betrayed  him.  He  was  not 
doing  it  from  necessity ;  one  glance  showed 
the  youth  that  no  such  motive  had  brought 
Simonides  thither.  Phsedrus  recalled  the 
words  the  old  slave  had  uttered  the  day 
before :  "  Suppose  Nicias  denied  it  all ! 
Which  do  you  suppose  Hermon  would 
believe,  —  you  or  him  ?  "  And  he  realized, 
for  the  first  time,  the  difficulty  of  proving 
where  he  had  obtained  the  rolls  which  lay 
at  this  moment  in  the  pocket  of  his 
cloak. 

No,    Simonides    could    ruin   him   if   he 
wished.     He  was  in  the  old  man's  hands. 
[92] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

And  yet,  for  some  strange  reason,  Simoni- 
des  was  risking  his  own  life  and  helping 
the  boy  who  had  injured  him  to  escape  ! 

A  figure  appeared  behind  Simonides. 
The  captain  of  the  ship,  finger  on  lips, 
pointed  over  the  slave's  shoulder  at  the 
opening  at  Phsedrus'  left.  The  man  said 
nothing,  but  Phsedrus  understood.  With 
eyes  half  blinded  by  tears,  he  turned  and 
went  to  the  window.  It  opened  on  the 
side  of  the  ship  away  from  the  wharf; 
below  it  lay  a  rude  fishing  boat  in  which 
a  farmer  had  brought  his  grain  to  market. 
A  man  was  sitting  in  the  stern ;  he  stood 
up  and  smiled  as  he  saw  Phsedrus'  face  at 
the  window.  The  boy  threw  a  last,  quick 
look  at  Simonides.  The  old  man  nodded 
silently.  Phsedrus  climbed  down  the  rope 
and  dropped  down  into  the  fisherman's 
heavy  boat. 

The  boatman  reached  forward  and  drew 
[93] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

a    heavy    piece    of    sail-cloth    over    the 
crouching  boy. 

"Lie  down,"  he  said,  "you'll  have  a  long 
wait." 

*  *  *  #  * 

It  was  noon  of  that  December  day, 
when,  some  twenty  miles  at  sea,  Phaedrus 
climbed  up  the  knotted  rope  to  the  deck  of 
the  ship  and  waved  farewell  to  the  fisher- 
man as  his  towing-line  was  thrown  off. 
The  shores  of  distant  Ephesus  had  already 
receded  into  a  slender  line  of  blue ;  to  the 
west  lay  the  new  world,  with  life  and 
liberty ;  and  yet,  for  Phaedrus,  a  black 
shadow  seemed  to  lie  upon  the  face  of  the 
sun.  The  thought  of  old  Simonides  lay 
like  a  weight  upon  his  soul.  The  memory 
of  the  distress  visible  in  his  kind  old  eyes 
cut  the  boy  to  the  quick.  And  the 
remembrance  of  the  risk  the  old  man  had 
run  terrified  him.  Would  Hermon  suspect 
[94] 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  SIMONIDES 

the  truth?  Would  the  old  man  be  tor- 
tured ?  Would  Hermon  tie  a  rope  about 
his  leg  and  twist  his  joints  out  of  place, 
or  flog  his  silence  into  speech  ? 

Shame  lifted  its  scourge  upon  the  boy. 
He  was  a  patrician,  and  prided  himself  upon 
his  honor,  —  but  now  he  had  acted  like 
a  slave.  Old  Simonides  had  been  a  bonds- 
man from  childhood,  yet  in  this  hour  he  had 
carried  himself  like  a  patrician.  Having 
become  a  thief,  Phsedrus  had  also  shown 
himself  a  coward,  and  the  consciousness 
of  his  ingratitude  stung  him  through  and 
through.  A  hundred  times  he  thought 
of  springing  up,  of  trying  to  swim  ashore 
and  hurrying  back  to  his  master's  house 
and  slavery.  And  then  the  thought  of 
the  torture  that  he  himself  might  undergo 
rose  like  a  barrier  in  the  way.  A  wave 
of  nausea  swept  over  him.  The  thought 
of  what  he  might  suffer  stifled  his  better 
[95] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

impulses,    and    killed    his    courage.     The 
die  was  cast.     Simonides  was  deserted. 

And  well  it  was  for  the  boy  that  he  knew 
nothing  about  the  scenes  of  that  night 
when  Hermon  tried  to  force  some  infor- 
mation from  old  Simonides,  who  had 
decided  to  lose  his  life,  if  necessary,  that 
Nicias  might  be  safe  and  Phsedrus  have 
his  freedom. 


[96] 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE   ROMAN   LAWYER 

*s     torment      in 

,.  TT,    i 

fear ;  Ephesus 
was  only  a  tiny  spot  on 
the  horizon,  yet  scarcely 
had  Phaedrus  stepped 
upon  the  deck  of  the 
vessel  than  he  began  to 
wonder  what  Simonides  had  said  to  the 
captain.  He  felt  sure  that  the  officer  must 
be  himself  a  follower  of  the  "Way/'  else  he 
would  never  have  given  such  ready  answer 
to  Simonides'  request.  Yet  if  he  had  been 
at  the  midnight  meeting  at  Nicias'  house, 
it  was  almost  certain  that  soon  or  late  he 
would  recognize  PhaBdrus  and  guess  the 
secret  of  his  flight.  The  very  thought 
[99] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

brought  new  terror.  In  his  excited  state, 
the  mere  flutter  of  a  sail  was  enough  to 
set  the  boy  trembling. 

But  the  crisis  had  to  be  met,  and  it  was 
characteristic  of  Phaedrus  to  meet  it  with 
instant  decision.  Wrapping  his  cloak  into 
a  bundle,  the  better  to  conceal  the  gold 
cup  and  the  stolen  plate  and  rolls,  he  began 
to  look  about  for  the  captain.  The  officer, 
however,  was  busy;  a  strong  breeze  had 
come  up  out  of  the  northeast,  and  the 
crew  were  working  furiously  in  an  attempt 
to  reef  the  heavy  sails.  Phaedrus  watched 
the  captain  as  he  stood  shouting  orders, 
and  decided  that  he  had  never  seen  the 
man  before.  Knowing  the  uselessness  of 
interrupting  at  such  a  moment,  Phaedrus 
turned  and  made  his  way  below. 

The  cabin  was  deserted ;  it  was  a  small 
room,  lit  by  the  rays  of  a  hanging  lamp, 
and  encircled  by  two  tiers  of  rude,  narrow 
[100] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

bunks.  Conveniences  of  travel  there  were 
none.  The  place  was  bare,  dark,  and  stuffy; 
apparently  it  was  shared  by  passengers  and 
crew.  But  Pha3drus  had  obtained  no  rest 
the  previous  night,  and  he  felt  suddenly 
exhausted.  He  moved  about  the  room, 
examining  the  bunks,  to  make  sure  that 
none  were  in  use,  and  then  tiptoed  to  the 
door  and  listened.  Hearing  nothing,  he 
returned  to  the  bunk  farthest  from  the 
door,  and  deep  in  the  shadows  cast  by 
the  flickering  lamp,  and  there  unrolled  his 
precious  bundle.  He  rearranged  the  two 
plates  and  the  golden  cup,  wrapping  them 
carefully  in  the  silken  scarf ;  rolled  them 
once  more  together  with  the  manuscripts 
into  as  small  a  bundle  as  possible,  and 
pushed  them  into  the  corner  of  the  bunk. 
The  cloak  he  threw  over  them,  and  making 
a  pillow  out  of  the  bundle,  he  lay  down 
and  tried  to  compose  himself  for  sleep. 
[101] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

At  first  he  could  not  rest.  His  heart 
pounded  loudly,  and  his  brain  seemed  to  be 
on  fire.  But  gradually,  Nature  had  her  way 
with  the  tired  boy;  his  eyelids  began  to  grow 
heavy ;  little  by  little,  he  drifted  into  the 
sleep  of  utter  weariness.  Noon  came,  the 
sun  set  and  night  was  falling  before  he  was 
roused  from  his  stupor.  Then  he  felt  a 
hand  upon  his  arm,  and  opening  his  eyes, 
saw  a  kind  face  looking  down  into  his.  It 
was  a  sailor,  who  brought  a  little  food  and 
a  cluster  of  sweet  grapes,  with  a  message 
from  the  captain.  Phaedrus  sat  up,  taking 
care  to  keep  the  suspicious  bundle  behind 
him,  and  eagerly  accepted  the  belated 
meal.  There  was  that  in  the  sailor's  bear- 
ing that  convinced  the  boy  that  this 
thoughtful  act  represented  an  overture 
on  the  part  of  the  captain;  and  so  it 
proved.  Before  Phsedrus  had  time  to 
finish  eating,  the  officer  himself  appeared 
[102] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

and  dismissed  the  sailor.  He  was  a  big, 
hearty  man,  with  a  full,  mellow  voice,  and 
as  Phsedrus  discovered  later,  the  abrupt 
manner  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to  com- 
mand ;  he  began  the  conversation  very 
quietly,  with  lowered  voice,  and  a  look 
that  for  an  instant  brought  a  rush  of  fear 
to  Phsedrus'  heart. 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  and  he  threw  a 
quick  glance  over  his  shoulder  as  he  spoke, 
"that  you  are  a  follower  of  the  Way." 

Pha?drus  stiffened  inwardly. 

"My  old  friend,"  the  captain  continued, 
"  told  me  that  you  were  travelling  to  Rome 
on  a  matter  of  importance.  You  have 
means,  I  gather,  and  I  am  told  that  you 
have  acted  as  secretary  to  a  high  official  of 
the  government."  The  captain  threw  a 
sudden,  piercing  glance  to  Phsedrus.  "  You 
speak  Latin,  of  course?" 

Phsedrus  nodded. 

[103] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"And  I  suppose  you  know  books.  The 
reason  I  —  I  ask  these  questions  is  that  I 
have  another  passenger,  a  man  of  wealth 
and  position,  of  whom  you  will  necessarily 
see  something  during  the  next  two  days." 
The  captain  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 
"The  Roman  is  not,  however,  a  follower 
of  the  Way;  you  must  be  very  careful 
in  your  talk  with  him.  He  is  an  old 
lawyer ;  the  owner  of  this  line  of  vessels ; 
he  has  been  my  employer  for  twenty  years. 
But  sometimes  -  '  the  captain  rose  sud- 
denly, as  if  half  afraid  to  continue,  "some- 
times I  think  he  knows  that  I  —  that  I 
believe." 

Phsedrus  breathed  more  freely.  If  this 
were  all,  he  had  little  to  fear. 

"I  will  say  nothing,"  he  answered,  "I 
will  avoid  your  friend  entirely,  if  you 
wish." 

The  captain  smiled. 
[KM] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

"You  cannot  avoid  him.  You  two  are 
the  only  passengers  aboard,  unless  you 
count  his  two  slaves.  He  came  to  Ephesus 
with  us  for  the  sake  of  the  sea  air,  which 
his  physician  prescribes  for  him  about  this 
time  each  year.  He  is  a  most  peculiar 
man.  He  —  "  the  captain's  eye  softened  a 
little.  "  Well,  you  may  find  him  interest- 
ing, if  you  don't  mind  being  contradicted." 

Phsedrus  laughed. 

"I  am  accustomed  to  that." 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"To  contradictions  —  yes.  But  not  to 
the  sort  of  man  my  employer  is.  Come 
on  deck  with  me  now,  —  you  have  finished 
eating,  —  and  you  will  meet  the  patri- 
cian. His  name  is  Ximines.  You  may 
have  heard  it ;  you  are  interested  in 
books.  He  has  long  been  a  collector  of 
rare  manuscripts.  But  remember,  what- 
ever you  do,"  and  the  captain's  expression 
[105] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

once  more  became  serious,  ayou  must  be 
very  careful  as  to  what  you  say."  And 
without  giving  the  boy  time  to  do  any- 
thing more  than  push  the  rolled-up  cloak 
into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  bunk,  the 
captain  led  the  way  to  the  deck  above. 

Phsedrus'  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  as  he 
left  the  cabin.  He  realized  that  it  was 
foolhardy  to  leave  the  bundle  in  the 
empty  bunk;  yet  he  did  not  dare  confide 
in  the  captain,  lest  the  stolen  treasure 
betray  him.  He  could  only  follow  the 
officer  against  his  will. 

But  he  forgot  his  anxiety  the  instant  he 
stepped  on  deck  and  drew  in  his  first 
breath  of  the  cool  night  air.  The  scene 
that  met  his  eyes  was  one  he  never  forgot. 
A  single  light  burned  in  the  prow  of  the 
boat ;  the  rising  moon  cast  a  silvery  sheen 
across  the  rippling  waters,  etching  clearly 
every  detail  of  the  ship's  rigging ;  and  the 
[106] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

rush  of  the  vessel's  prow  threw  out  a  great 
wave  of  gleaming  phosphorus,  which  flashed 
and  sparkled  like  a  jewelled  fan.  Off  to  the 
right  lay  the  rocky  coast  of  an  island ; 
tiny  points  of  red  and  yellow  winked 
merrily  from  the  streets  of  a  little  town 
on  the  shore ;  away  in  the  distance  rose 
and  fell  the  ruby  lantern  in  some  fisher- 
man's frail  skiff. 

Instinctively,  Phffidrus  paused  to  drink 
in  the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  scene.  A 
rush  of  emotion  overwhelmed  him ;  that 
strange  longing  which  is  the  joy  and  the 
torment  of  the  traveller  filled  his  soul. 

The  captain  had  moved  away,  along 
the  deck.  A  voice  now  startled  PhaBdrus 
directly  behind  him. 

"You  appear,"  said  the  voice,  "to  have 
an  eye  for  the  beautiful." 

PhaBdrus  wheeled,  and  saw  an  old  man, 
wrapped  in  a  heavy  cloak  of  fur,  and  sup- 
[107] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

ported  by  two  slaves.  It  was  the  other 
passenger,  Ximines. 

Phsedrus  bowed. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  night/'  he  said  simply. 

The  old  traveller  grunted. 

"It  is  a  cold  night/'  he  said.  He  eyed 
Phsedrus  with  disapproval.  "You  should 
be  better  protected  against  the  wind,  young 
man.  Where  is  your  cloak?" 

Phsedrus  felt  himself  coloring  in  the 
darkness. 

"I  —  It  is  below,  in  the  cabin.     I  — " 

"You  should  be  wearing  it.  Nothing 
is  more  beneficial  than  sea  air,  if  one  is 
prepared  for  it.  Nothing  is  more  danger- 
ous than  sea  air,  if  one  neglects  the  neces- 
sary precautions  as  to  warmth  and  exer- 


cise." 


Ximines    spoke    with    a    slow,    precise 
enunciation;    the  formal  balance  of  his 
phrases  gave  his  speech  an  odd  dignity 
[108J 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

which  impressed  the  boy  immensely.  Phse- 
drus  had  heard  the  teachers  of  rhetoric 
speak  thus  in  the  old  days  at  Mitylene. 

"Allow  me,"  continued  Ximines,  "to 
send  one  of  my  servants  to  fetch  it  for 
you." 

Phsedrus  caught  his  breath. 

"No,  no  !  Thank  you  !  I  —  I  can  get 
it  myself.  I  left  it  purposely.  I  really  do 
not  need  it ;  the  night  — "he  found  him- 
self floundering. 

Ximines  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 

"  Do  not  argue  !  No  night  is  so  warm 
that  one  can  afford  to  stand  about  with- 
out a  cloak.  Here  !"  he  dropped  the  arm 
of  one  of  his  slaves,  and  pushed  the  man 
forward.  "Arbaces  can  get  you  one  of 
mine.  I  have  three  of  them  on  the  deck 
here  somewhere." 

The  slave  moved  hurriedly  away.  Phse- 
drus protested. 

[109] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDEUS 

"I  assure  you  I  am  quite  warm/'  he 
said,  but  inwardly  he  trembled  at  the 
narrowness  of  his  escape. 

Ximines  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"Give  me  your  arm/'  he  said,  "we  will 
walk  until  my  man  brings  the  garment." 
And  as  Phsedrus  took  his  place  at  the  old 
man's  side,  the  latter  continued,  "Next  in 
value  to  warmth  is  exercise.  One  should 
make  it  a  point  to  walk  regularly  when 
aboard  ship,  no  matter  how  small  the 
opportunity."  He  stopped,  in  unconscious 
denial  of  his  own  theory,  and  let  go  Phse- 
drus' arm,  to  gesture.  "All  the  illnesses 
of  travel  are  due  to  one  thing:  lack  of 
will  on  the  part  of  the  traveller.  There 
is  no  reason  why  a  man  should  be  any 
more  susceptible  to  illness  when  travelling 
than  when  he  is  at  home.  No  man  would 
be,  if  he  had  the  sense  and  the  will  power 
to  do  exactly  what  he  does  at  home ! 
[110] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

Consider  my  own  case."  Ximines  once 
more  grasped  Phsedrus'  arm,  and  moved 
forward.  "I  have  made  this  trip  from 
Puteoli  to  Ephesus  and  return,  once  each 
winter  for  twenty  years.  In  all  that 
time  —  "  he  broke  off  as  the  captain  reap- 
peared in  front  of  them.  "Hah  !  a  fine 
night,  captain  !  You  see  I  have  found  a 
new  support  in  my  feebleness  !  A  young 
man  who  comes  on  deck  without  a  cloak. 
I  have  sent  Arbaces  for  one  of  mine  to  lend 
him.  You  should  warn  your  passengers, 
captain;  I  have  told  you  a  thousand 
times  that  this  night  air  is  dangerous." 

The  captain  chuckled.  Ximines  waved 
his  hand  disparagingly. 

"Do  not  laugh  !  Youth  can  afford  to 
be  reckless ;  middle  age  cannot !  One  of 
these  days  you  will  be  offering  a  young 
lamb  to  Esculapius,  in  the  hope  of  a  cure 
for  the  ache  in  those  big  bones  of  yours  !" 
[Ill] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

The  slave  returned  with  a  heavy  cloak, 
and  Phsedrus  put  it  on  at  the  old  man's 
peremptory  bidding. 

"Now,"  said  Ximines,  "we  will  walk  a 
little  more,  before  retiring."  He  dismissed 
the  slaves,  and  waved  an  airy  adieu  to  the 
captain,  who  was  going  below.  "I  always 
walk,"  he  said  to  Phaedrus,  "at  least  half 
an  hour  before  retiring.  It  settles  the 
blood.  My  physician  is  a  Greek;  he — " 
Ximines  paused.  "You  are  a  Greek,  too, 
are  you  not?"  And  at  Phsedrus'  assent, 
"that  is  good.  You  can  help  me  with 
the  words  in  some  Greek  manuscripts 
I  have  lately  acquired.  But  what  was  I 
saying  ?  My  physician  —  ?  Ah,  yes  ! 
My  physician  pronounces  an  hour's  gentle 
exercise  before  retiring  absolutely  invalu- 
able for  the  system.  He  is  a  very  skilful 
man,  too  !  He  comes  from  —  where  did 
you  say  you  came  from?" 
[112] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

The  thought  of  the  captain's  warning 
flashed  through  Phsedrus'  brain.  This  old 
man  was  keen. 

"I  come  from  the  provinces,"  said  the 
boy.  "I  am  going  to  Italy  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life." 

Ximines  nodded. 

"So !  Very  interesting.  A  great  ex- 
perience; you  will  enjoy  it,  I  am  sure. 
You  go  on  business,  I  suppose?" 

Phsedrus  hesitated. 

"I  am  considering,"  he  said  cautiously, 
"remaining  in  Italy  permanently."  An 
idea  occurred  to  him.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  the  opportunity  in  Rome  for  a  young 
man  of  my  country  ?" 

Ximines  frowned.    "  Have  you  money  ?  " 

"Very  little.  I  used  to  have  a  great 
deal.  But — "  The  boy  could  find  no 
words  to  continue. 

Ximines  spoke  for  him. 
i  [113] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"But  you  have  it  no  longer.  Ah,  well, 
—  so  it  goes !  We  never  really  value 
money  until  it  is  gone.  I  suppose  you 
lost  it  at  play.  We  all  do.  I  lost  mine 
when  I  was  your  age.  No  matter.  You 
will  make  money  fast  enough  if  you  are  the 
type  that  succeeds  in  Rome;  and  money  will 
never  buy  you  success  if  you  are  not  of 
that  type."  Ximines  sighed.  "We  put 
too  much  emphasis  on  money  nowadays. 
I  wonder,"  he  stopped,  and  gazed  shrewdly 
into  the  boy's  eyes.  "I  wonder  whether 
it  has  ever  occurred  to  you  that  you  are 
living  in  a  commonplace  age?"  Charac- 
teristically, he  did  not  wait  for  an  answer, 
but  went  on,  as  if  addressing  a  small 
audience.  "You  are  a  Greek;  have  you 
forgotten  that  there  was  a  time  when  the 
temples  of  Athens  were  all  aflame  with 
torches;  when  poets  and  philosophers 
daily  supplied  the  sacred  oil  ?  If  you  have, 
[114] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

it  is  because  that  time  is  gone.  Pericles' 
eloquence  has  long  been  silent.  Demos- 
thenes' tongue  has  been  stilled  by  a  dagger. 
Plato  and  Aristotle  no  longer  walk  the 
streets  of  your  capital.  And  the  same 
cloud  rests  over  Rome.  Julius  CaBsar,  the 
greatest  soldier  Rome  ever  knew,  is  dead, 
murdered  by  his  own  friends.  Cicero," 
and  it  seemed  to  PhaBdrus  that  Ximines' 
voice  took  on  a  strange  softness  as  he  pro- 
nounced this  name,  "Cicero  is  dead. 
Virgil  has  been  dead  for  many  years ; 
Horace  has  left  us;  Lucretius  and  Livy 
are  both  gone.  All  the  lofty  spirits,  all  the 
tall  candlesticks  in  the  temple  of  fame, 
death  has  snuffed  out !  Our  world  is  a 
desert,  —  a  vast  Sahara,  drained  dry  of 
genius  !" 

Ximines  took  Phsedrus'  arm  once  more, 
and    together   they   resumed    their    walk 
along  the  deck.    For  a  time  the  boy  could 
[115] 


THE  STORY  OF  PBLEDRUS 

think  of  no  answer ;  then  he  fell  back  on 
the  old,  familiar  argument. 

"I  suppose  it  is  true/'  he  said,  "that  at 
present  there  are  no  bright  stars  in  the 
literary  firmament.  But  is  not  that  a 
matter  of  chance?  Is  it  not  because, 
in  the  case  of  Rome,  certainly,  men  are 
devoting  their  energies,  for  the  time  be- 
ing, to  the  great  questions  of  imperial 
government,  to  the  needs  of  the  state, 
to—" 

"Needs  of  the  state!"  Ximines  fairly 
snorted.  "Bosh  !  Needs  of  the  Csesars, 
you  mean !  Young  man,"  Ximines 
gripped  Phsedrus'  arm  until  he  winced, 
"make  it  a  practice  to  think  straight 
while  you  are  young  !  Don't  delude  your- 
self with  false  dreams  because  they  are 
pleasant  dreams  !  You  ask  me  if  it  is 
not  pure  chance  that  there  are  no  bright 
stars  in  the  literary  firmament ;  and  then 
[116] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

you  proceed  to  answer  your  own  question 
by  telling  me  it  is  not  chance,  but  the 
logical  outcome  of  our  policy,  which  is 
one  of — "  Ximines  chuckled  "flimflam, 
robbery,  murder,  pride,  —  each  man  for 
himself,  and  the  devil  take  the  hind- 
most !  Bah  !  Needs  of  the  state  !  What 
are  the  needs  of  the  state  ?  Bread  — 
bread  and  ideas.  And  what  do  we  give 
the  state?  Bread,  bread,  and  again 
bread  !  There  is  a  saying  of  that  heathen 
philosopher  who  has  been  causing  us 
trouble  lately,  'Man  shall  not  live  by 
bread  alone,"  Ximines  glanced  sharply 
at  the  boy,  —  "did  you  ever  hear  it  ?" 

Phsedrus  shook  his  head.  He  won- 
dered vaguely  whether  the  old  man's  ti- 
rade was  all  a  trick  to  make  him  betray 
himself. 

"Well,  there  is  truth  in  it,"  Ximines 
went  on,  "whatever  the  heathen  meant 
[117] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

by  it.  Bread  —  corn  —  corn  for  the 
populace,  to  buy  their  support,  that  is 
the  sole  thought  of  the  Caesars  !  Ideas 
—  ?"  Ximines  laughed  aloud.  "We  are 
long  since  bankrupt  of  them  !" 

He  grew  once  more  serious. 

"Why,  if  we  had  only  lived  up  to  that 
miserable,  starved  philosophy  you  have 
just  upheld,  Rome  would  not  have  sunk 
to  such  a  level.  But  have  we  done  so  ? 
Look  about  you,  when  you  arrive  in  Italy  ! 
You  will  find  we  are  in  daily  peril.  Nine 
out  of  ten  of  our  people  are  slaves. 
Few  can  read  or  write.  These  slaves 
own  no  land,  no  house,  no  fuel.  They  lie 
down  amidst  blows,  and  wake  to  curses. 
The  slave  has  too  little,  just  as  the  patri- 
cian has  too  much.  For  the  most  part, 
our  slaves  are  captives,  brought  in  from 
conquered  provinces.  There,  many  were 
people  of  influence  and  property.  Here, 
[118] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

their  life  is  drudgery,  their  food  sorrow, 
their  drink  tears  and  blood.  In  hours  of 
bitterness  the  peasant  and  the  slave  are 
forced  to  think.  Thinking  teaches  them 
the  difference  between  the  wheaten  loaf 
and  a  fog-bank,  —  between  ambrosia  and 
gall.  I  tell  you  we  have  not  even  shoul- 
dered the  lesser  responsibility,  —  that  of 
feeding  the  people's  bodies.  It  is  hunger 
that  makes  the  revolutionist's  bread  taste 
so  sweet." 

Phsedrus  listened  in  amazement.  Xim- 
mines  had  dropped  his  arm  again,  and 
was  standing  facing  him,  his  eyes  blazing, 
his  hands  moving  in  quick,  nervous  ges- 
tures, his  voice  vibrant  with  sincerity. 

"I  am  a  patrician,  I  have  pride.  I 
have  some  feeling  for  class  position.  But 
I  trust  I  am  not  so  hopelessly  blind  as  to 
think  that  our  present  civilization  repre- 
sents anything  but  a  state  of  degradation. 
[1191 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Look  at  us  !  A  handful  of  us  own  every- 
thing. But  yesterday  the  fiery  ash  from 
Vesuvius  ruined  a  score  of  farms  not  far 
from  where  I  live.  I  tell  you  there  are 
forces  in  slavery  more  powerful  than  Ve- 
suvius !  The  day  will  come  when  this 
whole  land  will  be  convulsed,  when  pas- 
sions will  flow  like  lurid  lava  over  our 
country  and  bury  the  patrician  and  his 
palace  forever  !" 

Ximines  ceased  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
begun. 

"Come/'  he  said  shortly,  "I  am  forget- 
ting myself.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  have 
my  ideas.  But  it  is  bad  for  me  to  voice 
them.  I  exhaust  myself  to  no  purpose." 
And  he  added,  a  little  wistfully,  it  seemed 
to  Phsedrus,  "No  one  ever  agrees  with 


me." 


There  was  something  in  his  tone  which 
touched  the  boy. 

[120] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

"I  don't  know  but  I  agree  with  yon," 
he  said  quickly.  "I  have  never  heard 
the  peril  stated  as  you  have  put  it." 

Ximines  made  no  answer.  He  turned 
and  allowed  the  youth  to  help  him  back 
along  the  deck  to  the  companion-way, 
where  the  two  slaves  were  waiting. 

There  he  prepared  to  say  good-night. 

"Age  has  its  privileges,"  he  said,  as 
Phsedrus  returned  the  borrowed  cloak,  "I 
have  a  cabin  to  myself.  Think  over  what 
I  have  said.  I  will  see  you  in  the  morning. 
The  gods  give  you  a  good  rest !"  And  he 
took  his  place  in  a  small  swinging  litter, 
which  the  two  stalwart  servants  proceeded 
to  lower  to  the  deck  below. 

Phssdrus  remained  above  a  little  while, 
watching  the  waves  break  against  the 
prow  of  the  boat,  and  thinking  of  the 
strange  events  of  the  day  that  had  just 
passed.  For  the  moment,  he  had  forgotten 
[1211 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  cloak  with  its  valuable  contents,  lying 
in  his  bunk  in  the  cabin.  Then  he  recalled 
it  with  a  start,  and  hurried  below,  only 
to  find  the  garment,  to  his  great  relief, 
exactly  as  he  had  left  it. 

Before  retiring,  he  asked  for  the  captain, 
and  arranged  to  borrow  for  the  journey 
a  small  bronze  chest  with  a  heavy  lock. 
Into  this  he  put  the  gold  cup  and  the  two 
silver  plates.  The  rolls  of  manuscript, 
he  did  not  dare  leave  even  there,  but  hid 
them  in  the  pocket  of  his  cloak,  which  he 
realized  he  must  now  keep  close  to  him 
until  such  time  as  he  could  find  some  means 
of  selling  Nicias'  treasure. 

As  he  lay  waiting  for  sleep  to  come 
again,  his  mind  revolved  about  the  problem 
which  the  stolen  articles  presented;  the 
thought  of  old  Simonides,  and  of  his  own 
disloyalty  lay  like  a  weight  upon  him, 
and  when  at  last  he  fell  asleep,  the  con- 
[122] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

sciousness  of  his  treachery  ran  like  a 
black  thread  through  the  figment  of  his 
dreams. 

He  slept  fitfully,  and  he  was  up  at  dawn, 
but  not  before  Ximines,  the  lawyer.  The 
old  man  had  breakfasted,  and  was  sitting 
on  deck,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun, 
when  Phffidrus  finally  appeared.  He  was 
wrapped,  as  before,  in  a  heavy  cloak, 
and  his  slave  had  thrown  a  thick  blanket 
of  wool  over  his  knees.  He  was  looking 
at  a  manuscript  as  Phsedrus  approached, 
and  the  boy's  heart  leaped  with  pleasure 
as  he  saw  that  it  was  a  specimen  of  the 
finest  workmanship. 

Ximines  noticed  his  expression  of  de- 
light, and  held  up  the  roll. 

"You  like  books?"  he  asked  languidly, 
without  a  trace  of  the  intensity  which  had 
characterized  his  speech  the  previous 
evening. 

[123] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

"I  love  them."  Phsedrus  took  the  man- 
uscript and  fingered  it  tenderly.  "This 
is  very  beautiful."  His  eye  caught  the 
title.  "A  letter  of  Cicero's!  Is  —  is  it 
possible  that  this  was  written  by  —  by 
Cicero's  secretary,  at  his  dictation?" 

Ximines  smiled. 

"It  was  written  by  the  hand  of  Tiro, 
his  literary  slave." 

Phsedrus  showed  his  surprise. 

"I  never  expected/'  he  said  softly,  "to 
come  so  near  to  the  great  Cicero." 

The  words  delighted  the  old  man.  He 
plunged  at  once  into  a  discussion  of  Cicero's 
writings.  The  Roman  orator,  it  seemed, 
was  his  hero,  his  idol,  his  one  great  enthu- 
siasm. He  had  been  collecting  Cicero's 
letters  for  twenty  years,  and  he  now  owned 
nearly  seven  hundred  of  them. 

"Cicero!"  he  said,  "why,  Cicero  was 
one  of  the  few  great  men  in  history  !  His 
[124] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

countrymen  do  not  appreciate  him. 
Greatness  is  seldom  recognized.  How  can 
it  be  ?  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  measured  ; 
it  is  a  mysterious  effluence,  and  we,  who  are 
men  of  weights  and  measures,  are  always 
at  a  loss  to  value  that  which  cannot  be  ex- 
pressed in  terms  of  the  emperor's  coin." 
The  old  man  straightened  in  his  chair, 
throwing  out  one  arm  in  nervous  gesture. 
"Our  great  authors  —  while  they  live  — 
are  looked  upon  as  something  less  than 
ordinary  mortals.  Cicero  —  just  a  heavy 
man,  with  a  fine  hand  and  a  taste  for  ora- 
tory !  Your  philosopher  Socrates  —  only 
a  fat,  bandy-legged  old  gossip,  with  wall 
eyes  and  a  clacking  tongue!"  Ximines 
clenched  his  fist  indignantly.  "We  forget 
that  beauty  in  literature  is  the  product  of 
one  thing,  and  of  one  thing  only,  —  ade- 
quate thinking.  Thought  intensified  — 
that  is  literature  !  And  the  great  thinkers 
[125] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

haven't  time  to  be  great  eaters  and  drinkers, 
great  — " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  Leaning  over, 
he  pulled  the  rug  once  more  across  his 
knees,  and  sat  back,  breathing  heavily. 

"I  forgot,"  he  said,  "my  physician  made 
me  promise  not  to  excite  myself.  Stop 
me  when  you  see  me  —  when  I  do  that." 
Then  his  eyes  twinkled.  "Have  the  good 
sense,  young  man,  to  drink  hemlock,  or 
open  your  veins  before  you  reach  that  dis- 
graceful period  in  life  when  you  begin  to 
sacrifice  your  pleasures  for  the  sake  of 
dragging  out  your  pains  !" 

Phfiedrus  smiled. 

"Have  you  reached  that  period?" 

Ximines'  expression  clouded. 

"I  reached  it  ten  years  ago."  He  was 
silent,  looking  away  across  the  blue  Medi- 
terranean, toward  a  white  fleck  of  sail  on 
the  horizon.  "Men,"  he  said  finally,  "are 
[126] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

strange  cowards.  They  struggle  franti- 
cally to  preserve  that  which  they  do  not 
enjoy,  and  their  sole  motive  is  fear.  Fear 
of  they  know  not  what."  Then,  with  a 
quick  change  of  expression,  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "You  do  not  believe  this 
now,  but  you  will  when  you  are  older." 
His  voice  deepened.  "Life  is  made  up  of 
a  sequence  of  experiences  of  varying  in- 
tensity. It  is  possible  to  live  more  fully 
in  twenty  minutes  than  some  men  live  in 
twenty  years."  His  eyes  began  to  twinkle 
again.  "That  is  why  some  men  become 
criminals.  One  moment  of  infinitely  in- 
tense sensation,  —  what  is  a  lifetime  of 
imprisonment  to  that?"  He  stretched 
out  an  accusing  finger.  "  Have  you  ever 
committed  a  real  crime?" 

Phsedrus'  heart  all  but  stopped. 

"A  —  a  what  ?"  he  stammered  weakly. 

Ximines  broke  into  laughter. 
[127] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"A  crime !  A  legal  crime !  Come, 
come,  I  am  not  accusing  you.  Of 
course  you  haven't !  Neither  have  I ! 
Well,  do  you  suppose  we  have  lived  as 
that  man  has  lived  who  knows  what  it 
is  to  stand  for  an  instant  on  the  very  pin- 
nacle of  legal  offence,  with  the  hounds  of 
the  law  baying  below,  and  the  moment 
of  punishment  hard  upon  him  ?  No  !  A 
thousand  times  no  !"  Ximines  fell  to 
clucking  softly.  "Sometimes  I  think  I'd 
rather  die  a  thief,  with  the  memory  of 
one  supremely  exciting  moment,  than  a 
revered,  respected  member  of  a  commu- 
nity, whose  ideal  is  moderation  and  whose 
achievement  mediocrity  !" 

He  paused.  "That  statement  denies, 
of  course,  what  I  have  said  about  my  age. 
It  proves  me  young,  and  so  long  as  I  can 
cherish  such  immature  ideas,  I  feel  that 
I  must  live  on,  in  justice  to  the  gods.  It 
[128] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

would  be  immoral  to  die  at  seventy,  still 
fondling  such  a  childish  theory  of  exist- 
ence !" 

He  frowned  suddenly. 

"Do  you  feel  ill?"  he  asked.  "You 
look  pale.  Have  you  eaten  ?" 

Phffidrus  felt  ill ;  Ximines'  unconscious 
thrust  had  all  but  unnerved  him.  But 
the  fear  of  discovery  drove  him  to  a  reply. 

"It  is  nothing.  I  slept  badly.  I  shall 
feel  better  presently." 

Ximines  clapped  his  hands,  and  one  of 
his  slaves  brought  Phsedrus  a  chair.  The 
boy  seated  himself,  and  sought  desperately 
for  an  excuse  to  change  the  subject.  He 
threw  out  the  first  question  that  entered 
his  mind. 

"Are  you  fonder  of  Cicero's  letters  than 
of  his  orations?" 

Ximines  nodded. 

"It  is  bad  judgment,  doubtless,  but  I 
K  [129] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

prefer  the  letters.  The  orations  are  mar- 
vellous, of  course ;  they  have  a  wonderful 
rhythm,  and  a  thrilling  music ;  I  never 
read  them  without  thinking  of  the  voice 
of  pines  heard  in  the  darkness  of  a  mid- 
night gale.  Many  a  dead  political  fly 
will  be  preserved  in  the  amber  of  those 
polished  speeches.  But  if  I  must  choose, 
give  me  Cicero's  letters.  They  are  more 
intimate ;  letters  are  always  more  intimate ; 
they  represent  the  voice  of  the  companion 
in  the  twilight  hour,  not  the  throaty  elo- 
quence of  the  lawyer  on  the  forum  !  That 
is  why  the  letter  is  the  most  sacred  form 
of  literature.  In  the  letter  the  soul  leaves 
its  holy  place,  and  stands  on  the  threshold 
to  greet  the  friend." 

Ximines   paused.     "There   is   no   false 

display  in  the  good  letter.     Pride  — love 

of  decoration  —  that  is  the  weakness  of 

the  other  types  of  literature."     His  lips 

[130] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

curved  sarcastically.  "Do  you  remember 
what  Plato  said  to  Diogenes  ?  " 

Phsedrus  shook  his  head. 

"  Diogenes  went  to  see  Plato,  you  know, 
intent  upon  humiliating  him.  With  that 
inexcusable  lack  of  humor,  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  all  the  followers  of  his  phi- 
losophy, Diogenes  strode  up  and  down 
Plato's  room,  repeating,  '  I  tread  upon  the 
pride  of  Plato!'  'Yes/  returned  Plato, 
'  but  with  greater  pride  ! ' ' 

Ximines  paused.  "That  is  the  trouble 
with  verse.  Poetical  simplicity  is  often 
more  affected  than  poetical  embellish- 
ment." 

Phsedrus  listened  eagerly.  He  was 
beginning  to  recover  from  his  fright,  and 
the  old  man's  conversation  thrilled  him. 
His  own  knowledge  of  literature  was  by 
no  means  slight,  and  the  discrimination 
which  Ximines  displayed  awakened  in 
[131] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

him  a  real  admiration.  He  felt  strangely 
drawn  to  the  old  lawyer.  Here  was  a  man 
who  could  understand  and  appreciate  the 
things  that  meant  least  to  most  men.  He 
sat  enthralled;  as  Ximines  talked  on,  pass- 
ing lightly  from  one  topic  to  another, 
pouring  forth  a  flood  of  witty  reminis- 
cences. The  old  man  had  known  all  the 
Romans  of  his  own  day  worth  knowing, 
and  though  he  had  retired  years  before  to 
his  villa  near  Puteoli,  on  the  Bay  of  Naples, 
he  had  kept  in  touch  with  the  life  of  the 
great  capital.  He  seemed  to  like  to  talk ; 
it  was  evident  that  he  was  hungry  for 
companionship.  Phsedrus  discovered  in 
the  course  of  the  morning  that  the  lawyer 
lived  alone,  except  for  the  retinue  of  slaves 
whom  he  kept  to  care  for  his  estate.  He 
seemed  to  enjoy  Phsedrus'  company, 
doubtless  because  the  boy  had  tact,  and 
was  a  good  listener,  and  the  morning 
[132] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

passed;  and  noon  came,    before  either  of 
them  realized  how  the  time  was  flying. 

Then  Ximines  asked  the  boy  to  share 
the  meal  which  his  slaves  brought  up  to 
him,  and  together  they  dined  on  deck, 
seated  at  a  little  table  which  Arbaces  laid 
for  them.  After  this,  Ximines  announced 
in  his  abrupt  fashion  that  he  would  sleep, 
and  sleep  he  did,  sitting  in  the  same  chair, 
with  a  silk  scarf  tied  about  his  eyes  to  keep 
out  the  light,  and  his  heavy  cloak  thrown 
over  his  shoulders.  As  for  Phsedrus,  he, 
too,  slept,  but  on  the  warm  deck  near  the 
stern,  where  the  morning  sun  had  beaten 
steadily  for  hours,  and  where  the  force  of 
the  wind  was  broken  by  the  great  sweep  of 
the  sails.  Later  in  the  day,  he  sat  again 
with  Ximines  ;  still  later  he  dined  with  the 
captain,  and  in  the  evening  he  served  once 
more  as  Ximines'  support  during  the  lat- 
ter's  evening  exercise.  The  following  day 
[133] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  programme  was  repeated,  and  as  the 
days  passed,  it  became  the  regular  thing. 
Both  Ximines  and  the  captain  were  very 
kind  to  the  boy ;  the  former  continued  to 
regale  him  with  a  store  of  anecdotes  and 
philosophy;  the  latter  with  tales  of  ad- 
venture on  the  sea.  The  captain  was  not 
a  fluent  talker,  but  like  most  uneducated 
men,  he  was  a  keen  observer,  and  the  odd 
details  which  impressed  themselves  on 
him,  invariably  added  a  quaint  charm 
to  his  narratives. 

Phsedrus  would  have  been  happy  during 
this  time,  but  for  the  consciousness  of  his 
guilt.  The  theft  was  bad  enough,  but  the 
thought  of  Simonides'  generosity  was  what 
added  the  keen  edge  to  the  boy's  suffer- 
ing. He  felt  that  he  was  worse  than  a 
thief;  lower  than  the  slaves  whom  he 
had  been  taught  as  a  child  to  despise. 
For  had  he  not  been  outdone  in  loyalty 
[134] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

by  a  slave?  The  question  never  failed 
to  torture  him,  and  he  asked  it  a  hundred 
times  a  day.  If  Simonides  had  not  for- 
given him,  —  if  the  old  slave  had  only 
striven  to  hinder  or  perhaps  betray  him,  — 
then  the  consciousness  of  his  own  crime 
could  have  been  swallowed  up  in  bitter 
recrimination.  But  Simonides  had  been 
generous;  he  had  not  only  said  nothing 
to  betray  Phsedrus,  he  had  even  assisted 
the  youth  to  escape  !  Hour  after  hour, 
as  he  lay  in  the  stuffy  cabin  at  night, 
Phsedrus  would  retrace  the  steps  of  that 
eventful  night,  trying  to  find  some  ease 
for  his  conscience,  and  failing  always  in 
the  attempt. 

The  captain  constantly  tormented  him 
by  referring  both  to  Simonides  and  to 
"The  Way."  He  seemed  to  love  to  dwell, 
when  they  were  alone,  on  the  great  ques- 
tions of  sin  and  punishment  and  forgive- 
[135] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

ness.  He  was  always  relating  incidents 
which  had  to  do  with  the  followers  of  his 
Master.  One  of  his  tales  made  an  es- 
pecially deep  impression  on  the  boy.  It 
concerned  a  man  named  Paul,  of  whom 
Phsedrus  had  heard  mention  made  at  the 
meeting  in  Nicias'  house.  This  teacher, 
the  captain  said,  was  a  little  man,  thin, 
and  worn,  and  unsightly.  He  must  have 
been  a  brave  man,  because  of  the  mob- 
bings  he  had  survived,  and  the  scourgings 
he  had  received.  Great  scars  were  on  his 
face  and  arms ;  his  hands  were  thin  as 
parchment ;  he  had  suffered  enough  to 
have  slain  him  a  thousand  times.  Yet  he 
was  quite  free  from  fear,  and  the  captain 
said  he  spoke  like  an  angel  of  God.  It  was 
from  him  that  the  captain  had  first  learned 
"The  Way,"  and  the  latter  never  tired  of 
repeating  a  sentence  of  this  man's,  a  sen- 
tence that  somehow  irritated  the  boy,  and 
[136] 


THE  ROMAN  LAWYER 

made  him  feel  guiltier  than  ever.  The 
captain  did  not  always  quote  the  words 
exactly,  but  he  invariably  ended  with  one 
phrase,  —  "I  have  fought  the  good  fight, 
I  have  finished  the  course,  I  have  kept  the 
faith,"  and  the  words  became  gall  and 
wormwood  to  the  tortured  boy. 

The  stolen  articles  themselves  no  longer 
worried  Phsedrus ;  they  were  safe  for  the 
moment,  and  only  after  the  landing  at 
Puteoli  would  they  again  begin  to  be  a 
source  of  anxiety.  But  the  bitterness  of 
his  remorse  never  lessened ;  chance  in- 
cidents, sentences  dropped  by  Ximines, 
all  sorts  of  harmless  suggestions,  became 
big  with  accusation  under  the  lens  of  his 
fevered  mind. 


[137] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  STOLEN  ROLLS  PROTECT  THEMSELVES 


went ;  the  ship 
rounded  Sicily, 
and  bore  north,  the 
morning  of  the  landing 
dawned,  and  Phaedrus 
was  still  unable  to 
free  himself  from  bondage  to  his  own 
thoughts.  During  all  the  voyage  he  had 
carried  Nicias'  manuscripts  in  his  bosom, 
never  once  caring  to  examine  them ;  but 
now  he  realized  that  he  must  arrange  at 
once  to  dispose  of  the  rolls  as  well  as  of 
the  gold  cup  and  the  silver  plates. 
[139] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

He  was  standing  by  the  rail,  revolving 
this  problem  in  his  mind,  when  Ximines 
approached  and  laid  a  hand  affectionately 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  suppose 
you  are  dreaming  of  Rome.  There,"  and 
he  pointed  to  the  south  of  the  town, 
"there  is  what  I  am  dreaming  of,  —  my 
villa,  and  my  own  bed.  I  believe  you  can 
see  the  house  now."  He  paused.  "No  ! 
No,  I  am  mistaken.  We  are  not  near 
enough  as  yet.  I  live  quite  a  distance," 
he  added,  "from  Puteoli." 

Phsedrus  heard  him  half-heartedly.  His 
mind  was  full  of  his  own  plan  — the  thought 
of  the  landing,  and  the  risk  it  would  bring, 
of  the  journey  to  Rome,  of  the  great  capi- 
tal of  the  empire. 

"I    have    been    thinking    about    you," 
Ximines  went  on.     "Are  you  planning  to 
leave  Puteoli  to-night?" 
[140] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

Phsedrus  collected  himself  with  an  effort. 

"I  have  no  definite  plan.  I  intend  to 
start  for  Rome  as  soon  as  possible." 

Ximines  sighed. 

"And  in  the  meantime,  enjoy  yourself, 
undisturbed  by  the  necessity  of  making 
plans  !  Quite  right !  Ah,  youth,  youth  ! 
What  a  wonderful  thing  it  is  to  be  young  ! 
/  used  to  be  able  to  drift ;  nowadays  I 
must  plan  everything  in  advance.  No 
sudden  steps.  No  pleasant  indecision. 
No  dallyings  by  the  wayside.  Physician's 
orders !  I  might  catch  cold !  I  might 
excite  myself!  I  might — "  he  paused 
with  a  queer  grimace.  "But  what  does 
it  matter  ?  Physician  or  no  physician,  I'd 
plan  in  advance  just  the  same  !  I  am  only 
deluding  myself  in  denying  it.  It's  age, 
boy,  old  age.  I  can't  drift  any  more.  I 
have  lost  the  courage."  And  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  regret  he  quoted,  "'Would, 
[141] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

would  that  I  were  as  in  the  days  when  I 
led  my  army  out  into  the  valley  of  the 
Prameste!'" 

Phsedrus  was  distressed.  And  to  his 
surprise  the  old  man  did  not  attempt  to 
summon  his  usual  witty  apology  for  senti- 
mentality. 

"You  know  Cicero's  essay  on  Old  Age? 
The  one  where  he  says  that  when  old  age 
comes  it  brings  its  lamps  with  it, — friends, 
children,  honors,  a  good  wife?  Well, 
Cicero  forgot  the  old  age  that  brings  no 
lamps.  What  about  me  ?  My  wife  is 
dead,  my  children  are  dead,  most  of  my 
friends  are  dead.  Wealth,  position,  honors, 
— what  are  they,  when  one  is  —  "  Ximines' 
voice  hardened,  —  "when  one  is  alone?" 
His  voice  fell  almost  to  a  whisper.  "I 
am  old,  but  all  my  lamps  have  gone  out." 

A  lump  rose  in  the  boy's  throat.     He 

understood  for  the  first  time  the  real  trag- 
[142] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

edy  of  the  old  man's  life.  As  if  conscious 
of  the  effect  his  words  had  produced, 
Ximines  caught  the  boy's  shoulder,  and 
swung  him  about. 

"Listen/'  he  said  abruptly,  "you  are 
not  starting  for  Rome  to-night !  You  are 
coming  to  my  villa  to  spend  a  few  days 
with  me  !  You  are  going  to  have  your 
own  apartment,  and  your  own  servants, 
and  when  you  finally  leave,  you  will  take 
with  you  letters  of  introduction  to  some 
friends  of  mine  who  can  help  you.  But 
in  the  meantime,  you  are  going  to  make  an 
old  man  happy  by  keeping  him  company, 
and  listening  to  his  worn-out  stories,  and 
— "  Ximines  seemed  to  lose  his  voice. 
His  eyes  glistened  with  something  sus- 
piciously like  tears. 

"You  will  come?"  he  asked  simply. 

Phsedrus  cleared  his  throat. 

"Why,  of  course  I'll  come.    It  is  better 
[143] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

than  any  plan  I  can  make.  It  is  — " 
The  old  man  raised  a  warning  hand. 

"It  is  a  favor  to  me  !  I  know  what  a 
bore  an  old  person  is.  I  know  it  will  be 
dull  for  you.  It  is  a  favor  I  am  asking  of 
you,  and  my  only  excuse  for  asking  it  is 
that  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  later,  at 
Rome."  He  seemed  to  recover  his  good 
spirits.  "Yes,"  he  added,  "I  can  be  of 
use  to  you."  And  with  the  return  of  his 
characteristic  manner  he  dropped  Phse- 
drus'  arm. 

"  Well,  that  is  settled  ! "  He  clapped  his 
hands  as  a  summons  for  his  slaves.  "What 
about  your  baggage?"  he  asked,  "have 
you  much  to  carry?" 

Phsedrus  had  foreseen  such  a  question 
early  in  the  voyage. 

"Almost  nothing,"  he  answered  readily, 
"I  came  away  in  great  haste.  My  father 
suffered  reverses  before  he  died ;  of  all 
[144] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

that  he  owned  I  now  possess  nothing  but 
a  little  gold  and  silver  plate,  which  I  have 
with  me.  And  I  hope/'  he  added;  "that 
I  can  soon  get  rid  of  that,  in  exchange  for 
the  coin  it  will  bring." 

Ximines  nodded.  Such  a  statement 
was  by  no  means  uncommon  in  that  day. 
Fine  plate  was  as  safe  a  form  of  wealth 
as  could  be  devised,  and  the  boy's  explana- 
tion was  reasonable  enough. 

"Very  well,"  said  Ximines,  "I  will  have 
the  litters  call  at  the  shop  of  a  Sicilian, 
who  is  the  most  reliable  silversmith  in 
Puteoli.  The  matter  can  be  arranged 
in  a  moment."  He  dismissed  Arbaces 
who  had  come  forward  at  his  bidding. 
"Have  my  baggage  in  readiness,"  he  said, 
"the  young  man  has  already  arranged 
for  his."  And  he  turned  once  more  to 
watch  the  now  rapidly  nearing  entrance 
to  the  harbor. 

L  [145] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"You  must  not  think,"  he  explained  to 
Phsedrus,  "that  this  is  a  sudden  decision 
on  my  part.  I  hate  sudden  decisions. 
I  have  been  turning  this  matter  over  in 
my  mind  for  several  days.  As  you  have 
doubtless  guessed,  my  one  pleasure  in  life 
is  my  Library,  —  my  books  and  my  collec- 
tion of  original  letters.  Of  late,  my  eyes 
have  been  troubling  me.  Oh,  I  can  see 
objects  on  the  shore  as  clearly  as  ever, 
and  I  have  this  glass,  made  for  me  out  of  a 
piece  of  crystal,  by  a  physician  in  Rome,  — 
but  if  it  magnifies  the  page,  it  also  tires 
my  eyes.  The  time  has  come  when  I 
must  have  some  one  to  read  to  me.  You 
read  well,  —  I  have  heard  you.  You  like 
good  books,  —  and  you  know  something 
about  them.  What  more  natural  than 
that  I  should  think  of  you  as  my  salva- 
tion in  my  literary  work?"  Ximines 
paused.  "You  might  even  care  to  stay 
[146] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

with  me  as  my  secretary.  I  am  not  so 
hard  to  get  along  with,  after  — "he  broke 
off.  "Well,  we  can  discuss  that  later." 

Nothing  surprises  youth.  Within  an 
hour  Phsedrus  had  as  fully  accepted  the 
new  situation  as  if  he  had  known  the  law- 
yer for  a  lifetime,  and  had  never  experi- 
enced agonies  of  apprehension  at  the 
thought  of  the  landing. 

Two  hours  later,  he  was  helping  Ximines 
down  the  gang-plank  at  Puteoli.  The 
harbor  of  Puteoli  was  at  this  time  the 
winter  station  for  the  Imperial  fleet;  its 
water  presented  a  small  forest  of  masts, 
and  the  streets  of  the  town  were  full  of 
sailors.  The  usual  throng  was  assembled 
at  the  landing-stage,  and  it  was  with  some 
difficulty  that  Ximines'  slaves  forced  a 
passageway  through  the  press  around 
the  gang-plank.  Once  out  of  the  crowd, 

Arbaces  led  the  way  to  Ximines'  litter,  a 
[147] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

heavy  vehicle  with  richly  embroidered  cur- 
tains, and  the  usual  four  slaves  to  carry 
it.  Other  slaves  came  running  to  attend 
to  their  master's  baggage,  and  at  Arbaces' 
bidding  a  second  litter  was  brought  up. 
Ximines  took  his  place  in  the  first  litter, 
and  motioned  to  Phsedrus  to  enter  the 
other. 

"We  will  stop  at  the  Sicilian's,"  he  as- 
sured the  boy,  as  the  slaves  lifted  the 
litters,  and  moved  forward. 

Phsedrus  held  in  his  lap  the  small  bronze 
chest  which  he  had  borrowed  from  the 
captain,  and  in  the  pocket  of  his  cloak 
he  could  feel  the  stolen  rolls  of  manu- 
script. Ximines  had  arranged  for  the 
captain  to  dine  at  noon  at  the  villa,  and 
Phsedrus  was  to  send  back  the  chest  by 
one  of  the  slaves,  after  getting  rid  of  the 
gold  cup  and  the  silver  plate  at  the  silver- 
smith's. The  boy  sat  with  one  hand  on 
[148] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

the  heavy  box,  looking  out  between  the 
curtains  at  the  idle  throng  which  filled 
the  narrow  way.  The  town  was  filthy, 
the  streets  muddy,  the  passageway  ob- 
structed by  innumerable  market  carts,  so 
that  the  litters  had  to  move  at  first  slowly, 
and  in  single  file.  But  gradually,  as  they 
left  the  centre  of  the  town,  the  way  broad- 
ened out,  and  the  slaves  who  carried  Phse- 
drus  pushed  forward  until  the  two  Utters 
moved  side  by  side. 

"A  disgusting  town,"  said  Ximines, 
"but  the  air  is  better  once  we  leave  it, 
and  the  road  along  the  shore  is  really  beau- 
tiful." 

They  came  to  a  small  shop,  where  they 
stopped  at  Ximines'  bidding,  while  Ar- 
baces,  who  had  kept  pace  beside  his  mas- 
ter's litter,  went  inside  with  a  message  to 
the  shopkeeper.  Presently  the  latter  ap- 
peared, and  with  a  low  obeisance  to  the 
[149] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

lawyer,  approached  Ximines'  litter.  Phse- 
drus  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  small,  gray- 
haired  man,  thin  and  wiry,  with  brilliant 
eyes  and  pleasing  smile.  There  was  little 
of  the  shopkeeper  about  him,  —  he  looked 
more  like  a  successful  lawyer,  and  he  dis- 
played an  ease  of  manner  unusual  in  men 
of  his  class.  His  bearing  was  so  dignified 
that  it  caught,  and  held,  Phsedrus'  atten- 
tion, and  the  boy  watched  the  man  closely 
throughout  the  short  interview  which  fol- 
lowed. 

The  interview  lasted  only  a  few  moments 
—  both  men  speaking  in  tones  so  low  that 
the  boy  could  not  overhear  them.  Then 
one  of  the  slaves  carried  the  bronze  chest 
to  the  shop ;  the  shopkeeper  bowed 
again,  and  the  slaves  lifted  the  two  litters. 
Phsedrus  had  not  said  a  word. 

"That  did  not  take  long/'  said  Ximines, 
and  he  motioned  to  Arbaces  to  turn  to  the 
[150] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

right,  along  a  street  leading  back  to  the 
shore. 

They  came  out  of  the  narrow  alley  which 
they  had  been  following,  into  a  wide, 
sunny  road  along  the  bay.  The  fresh 
salt  air  from  the  Mediterranean  blew  once 
more  in  their  faces;  the  water  shone 
gloriously  blue  in  the  morning  air,  fish- 
ing boats  with  their  red  sails  rode  at  anchor 
in  the  distance.  The  slaves  hurried  on  at 
a  faster  pace.  Phsedrus  felt  suddenly  ex- 
hilarated ;  now  that  he  was  rid  of  the  gold 
cup  and  the  silver  plates,  he  felt  relieved. 
Only  the  manuscripts  now  remained  to 
remind  him  of  his  guilt.  Ximines'  voice 
broke  in  on  his  reflections. 

"There  is  Vesuvius/'  he  said,  and  he 
pointed  to  the  south,  "sending up  the  daily 
offering  of  smoke,  not  unto  the  gods  of 
goodness,  but  unto  the  demons  of  disaster 
and  destruction." 

[151] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Phsedrus  nodded.  An  eruption  was  a 
thing  to  thrill  men's  minds  with  awe  and 
terror. 

"Have  you  ever  witnessed  an  erup- 
tion?" he  asked  Ximines. 

The  lawyer  smiled. 

"They  occur  constantly,"  he  answered. 
"We  who  live  here  think  nothing  of  them. 
Some  men  do  say,"  he  added,  "that  the 
old  crater  is  going  to  make  trouble  one 
of  these  days.  I  do  not  know.  One 
becomes  hardened  to  danger,  —  if  it  can 
be  called  that." 

They  were  in  the  country  now,  amid 
the  sloping  hills,  with  their  terraced  vine- 
yards and  their  groves  of  figs  and  olives. 
Phsedrus  was  almost  too  much  interested 
to  talk,  but  the  lawyer  spoke  incessantly, 
pointing  out  now  an  old  house,  now  a  fine 
vineyard,  now  a  particularly  pleasing  site, 
—  and  always  explaining  with  the  jealous 
[152] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

pride  of  ownership,  the  relative  advantages 
of  his  own  estate. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  morning  before 
they  climbed  the  low  hill  which  led  to  the 
gate  of  Ximines'  villa.  Carved  in  the 
entrance  was  a  little  shrine ;  before  it 
stood  the  gate-keeper,  a  tall  young  slave, 
with  jet  black  hair,  and  brilliantly  colored 
clothing.  A  huge  dog  came  bounding  down 
the  hill  to  meet  the  litters,  and  the 
young  man  called  and  whistled  in  vain, 
as  Ximines  patted  the  excited  animal,  in 
evident  delight  at  its  affection.  Arrived 
at  the  gate,  the  slaves  put  the  litters  down. 
Phsedrus  wondered  vaguely  if  this  meant 
that  he  was  to  alight.  Through  the  open 
gate  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  winding 
driveway,  green  shubbery,  and  a  low  white 
house,  at  the  top  of  the  rise.  Servants 
were  hurrying  down  the  drive. 

Ximines  opened  a  little  purse,  filled 
[153] 


THE  STORY  OF  PBLEDRUS 

with  powdered  sandalwood.  Arbaces 
lifted  the  censer  which  swung  smoking  in 
front  of  the  shrine,  and  brought  it  to  him. 
Sprinkling  the  dust  over  the  fire;  Ximines 
closed  his  eyes.  The  slaves  bowed  their 
heads.  There  was  an  instant's  silence. 

"To  your  gods  and  mine,"  said  Ximines 
reverently. 

A  moment  later  the  slaves  raised  the 
litters,  and  the  little  company  passed 
through  the  gate,  along  the  gravel  road, 
toward  the  lawyer's  house.  The  villa 
entirely  justified  the  pride  which  its  owner 
displayed  in  it.  As  Phsedrus  helped  the 
old  man  to  alight  at  the  door,  he  noted 
with  astonishment,  the  two  beautifully 
carved  marble  columns  at  either  side  of  the 
entrance ;  and  as  they  passed  through  the 
hall  into  the  square  court,  he  saw  on  every 
hand  the  evidences  of  Ximines'  wealth 
and  taste.  There  was  none  of  the  stiff, 
[154] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

formal  elegance,  which  had  marred  the 
interior  of  Hermon's  villa ;  the  atmos- 
phere of  this  house  was  one  of  ease  and' 
restfulness ;  the  chairs,  the  benches,  the 
fountains,  the  very  tiles  themselves, 
seemed  to  reflect  a  cheerful  hospitality. 

Ximines  led  the  way  through  the  house, 
leaning  on  Phsedrus'  arm,  and  pointing 
with  his  stick  to  the  various  marbles  and 
entablatures  which  covered  the  wall  in 
remarkable  profusion.  In  the  library  he 
stopped  to  give  Phsedrus  a  long,  elaborate 
explanation  of  his  system  of  riling  manu- 
scripts, and  though  the  boy  endeavored  to 
persuade  him  to  rest,  he  insisted  upon 
making  a  personal  visit  to  the  apartment 
which  Phsedrus  was  to  occupy. 

These  rooms  were  so  large,  so  luxurious, 

and  so  like  the  rooms  in  his  father's  house 

at  Mitylene,  that  Phaedrus  felt  a  lump  rise 

in  his  throat  as  he  looked  upon  them. 

[155] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

And  when  Arbaces  led  them  to  the  great, 
sunny,  marble-lined  baths,  decorated  in 
blue  and  white,  and  heated  by  braziers 
of  polished  bronze,  he  realized  that 
this  was  the  finest  house  he  had  ever 
entered. 

Noon  came,  a  slave  announced  that  the 
captain  had  arrived,  and  they  joined  the 
officer  in  the  library.  The  voyage  from 
Ephesus  had  been  a  speedy  one,  the  cargo 
valuable,  and  the  captain  was  in  good 
spirits.  He  displayed  unusual  vivacity 
during  the  noon  meal,  and  afterwards,  as 
they  sat  once  more  in  the  library,  he  ac- 
tually told  for  Ximines'  benefit  a  long  and 
amusing  story  of  a  rival  shipmaster  who 
had  just  embarked  for  Ephesus  after  some 
difficulty  with  the  harbor  officials.  Then, 
as  the  hour  began  to  grow  late,  and  Pha3- 
drus  realized  that  the  captain  had  some 
matters  of  business  to  discuss  with  his 
[156] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

employer,  the  boy  made  his  excuses  and 
left  the  room. 

He  went  outside,  to  the  garden  in  front 
of  the  house,  where  he  found  the  large 
black  dog,  which  had  met  them  at  the 
gate.  The  dog  rose  lazily,  and  came  for- 
ward, wagging  a  vigorous  overture  of 
friendship,  and  Ph^drus  seated  himself 
on  a  marble  bench,  and  began  playing 
with  the  animal.  The  sun  was  warm, 
the  air  sweet,  the  view  entrancing,  —  the 
boy  gradually  forgot  the  mastiff  as  he 
gazed  across  the  rolling  fields  and  vine- 
yards toward  the  wonderful  blue  waters 
of  the  bay.  To  the  east,  Vesuvius  towered 
black  and  ugly  against  the  sky,  a  faint 
cloud  of  smoke  twisting  slowly  up  from 
the  lofty  crater.  Nearer,  the  terraced 
slopes  of  lower  hills  broke  the  line  of  the 
horizon,  and  just  below  the  wall  of  Xim- 
ines'  estate  the  white  tiles  of  another 
[1571 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

large    villa    gleamed    through    the    thick 
branches  of  a  heavy  grove. 

The  view  was  not  unlike  that  from  a 
certain  hill  near  Ephesus,  and  Phsedrus' 
thoughts  went  back  inevitably  to  the  years 
of  his  slavery  in  Hermon's  house.  Only 
a  few  days  had  passed  since  the  fateful 
morning  of  his  escape,  yet  he  felt  as  if 
years  had  come  and  gone.  He  remem- 
bered, for  the  hundredth  time,  Simonides, 
and  wondered  vaguely  what  the  old  man 
was  doing  now.  The  question  was  a 
futile  one,  yet  it  tormented  him,  and  it 
recalled  the  problem  of  the  rolls  of  manu- 
script still  unsold.  For  the  first  time 
Phsedrus  realized  that  he  dreaded  the 
thought  of  getting  rid  of  them.  They 
were  dangerous ;  they  were  of  no  use  to 
him,  yet  to  sell  them  meant  to  take 
the  last  step  in  his  course  of  infamy.  And 
something  whispered  in  him  that  he  must 
[158] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

not  take  this  step.  He  had  done  wrong  in 
stealing  the  rolls  in  the  beginning;  he 
would  only  be  increasing  his  guilt  by  sell- 
ing them.  There  had  been  some  excuse, 
—  or  if  no  excuse,  then  at  least  a  powerful 
motive  —  for  the  theft  of  the  gold  and 
silver,  but  in  his  heart  he  knew  that 
he  had  had  no  justifying  motive  for  the 
theft  of  Nicias'  manuscripts.  What  was 
the  money  they  would  bring  him,  over 
against  the  weight  of  meaning  they  carried 
for  Nicias  and  old  Simonides  ?  Again  and 
again,  in  his  bitterness  and  regret,  he 
asked  himself  what  folly  had  led  him  to 
be  guilty  of  such  a  crime. 

A  slave  came  up  the  driveway,  carrying 
a  bundle.  Phsedrus  eyed  him  dully,  as 
he  turned  off  along  a  path  which  led  tow- 
ard the  rear  of  the  house.  Presently 
he  disappeared  around  an  olive  tree,  and 
was  lost  to  sight.  The  youth  sat  absently 
[159] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

patting  the  black  dog,  his  heart  heavy  with 
remorse,  all  the  light  and  joy  of  the  day 
for  the  moment  gone. 

He  had  been  sitting  thus  for  some  time 
when  the  slave  reappeared  with  the  bundle 
and  approached  along  the  garden  path. 
As  he  drew  near,  he  made  respectful  obei- 
sance, and  extended  the  bundle.  Fastened 
to  it  was  a  note  which  Phaedrus  took  and 
opened.  It  was  from  the  Sicilian  silver- 
smith. 

"The  cup  and  the  plates,"  he  read, 
"  conveyed  their  message.  I  send  them 
back.  The  meeting  will  be  held  in  my 
house  to-morrow  evening." 

Phsedrus'  hands  trembled  as  he  held 
the  bundle.  He  did  not  need,  or  dare,  to 
open  it.  He  knew  its  contents.  The 
stolen  articles  had  returned. 

He  guessed  instantly  the  meaning  of 
the  Sicilian's  message.  Plainly,  there  was 
[160] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

something  about  the  gold  cup  and  the 
silver  plates  that  had  a  secret  meaning 
for  the  followers.  The  incident  produced 
a  strange  feeling  of  uneasiness  in  the  boy. 
There  was  something  uncanny  about  it. 
It  seemed  like  an  omen;  but  whether  it 
was  an  omen  of  good  or  bad,  he  knew 
not.  He  stood  in  perplexity  while  the 
slave  moved  away  down  the  path.  The 
bundle  was  heavy,  and  the  boy  put  it 
down  on  the  stone  bench.  He  remem- 
bered that  he  must  not  allow  Ximines  to 
know  that  the  articles  had  been  returned. 

And  then  came  the  question,  where 
could  he  sell  the  rolls  ?  He  must  find 
a  silversmith  who  was  not  a  follower  of 
"The  Way,"  -that  would  be  easy, — 
but  he  must  do  it  at  once  and  secretly, 
lest  Ximines  become  suspicious. 

The  captain  appeared  in  the  doorway 
of  the  house.  Phsedrus  dropped  the  bundle 
M  [  161  ] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

into  the  grass,  behind  the  marble  seat, 
and  hurried  back  to  the  house. 

The  officer  stood  talking  to  Ximines, 
who  was  behind  him  in  the  hall. 

"One  of  the  slaves  is  dying/'  he  ex- 
plained to  Phaedrus.  "He  has  sent  for 
his  master,  but  —  "  the  captain  frowned, 
"Ximines  wishes  to  send  a  physician 
instead.  As  I  am  the  only  physician 
in  the  neighborhood,"  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  "I  shall  have  to  go." 

He  hesitated.  "There  is  no  need  of 
your  going,  however." 

Ximines  interrupted. 

"Phaedrus  can  read  to  me  until  you 
return."  And  as  the  officer  left  them,  he 
led  Phaedrus  into  the  library.  "The  cap- 
tain will  not  be  back  for  some  time,"  he 
said,  and  Phsedrus  noticed  that  there  was 
an  unwonted  air  of  constraint  about  him. 

The  boy  took  the  roll  which  Ximines 
[162] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

selected,  and  began  to  read,  his  heart  set 
on  pleasing  the  old  man.  He  read  easily 
and  naturally,  and  several  times  he  was 
rewarded  by  seeing  Ximines  nod  his  head 
in  approval,  after  some  particularly  strik- 
ing passage.  An  hour  went  by.  At  last 
the  captain  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

Ximines  looked  up,  at  his  approach. 

" Well  ?"  he  said.     "The  slave  is  —  ?" 

"Dead,"  said  the  captain,  and  Phaedrus 
saw  the  old  lawyer  start.  "Your  servants 
were  right,"  the  captain  continued,  "the 
boy  was  dying  when  they  sent  for  you." 
He  hesitated.  "Why  —  how  is  it  that 
you  were  not  told  of  his  condition  when 
you  first  arrived  ?  " 

Ximines  frowned. 

"I   do   not   know,"   he   answered.     "I 

suppose  it  is  because  my  servants  know  I 

hate  the  thought  of  death."    He  passed 

his  hand  across  his  forehead.     "It  is   a 

[163] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

peculiarity  of  mine.  The  very  thought 
of  death  is  torture  to  me.  It  has  always 
been  so."  He  closed  his  eyes.  "I  sup- 
pose it  is  because  I  have  come  in  contact 
with  it  so  often." 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  should  have  said  one  could  become 
accustomed  to  it." 

Ximines  turned  away.  "  On  the  battle- 
field, yes.  Not  when  —  not  in  your  own 
family."  It  was  with  visible  effort 
that  he  retained  command  of  himself. 
"Where  is  Arbaces?"  he  asked  Phaedrus. 
"Have  him  tell  the  other  slaves  that  they 
must  make  no  disturbance  this  night." 
And  as  PhaBdrus  moved  to  do  his  bidding, 
Ximines  sank  into  the  nearest  chair  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

When  Phffidrus  reentered  the  room  a 
moment  later,  the  old  man  was  once  more 
himself.  The  color  had  returned  to  his  face, 
[164] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

he  sat  upright  in  the  large  chair,  and  he 
was  deep  in  conversation  with  the  captain. 

"After  all/'  he  was  saying,  "we  know 
nothing  more  about  the  nature  of  death 
to-day  than  men  did  in  the  days  of  Romu- 
lus. You  say  you  do  not  dread  it ; 
can  you  tell  me  what  it  is?  Or  what 
happens  to  a  man  when  this  thing  you 
call  Death  lays  hold  upon  him?" 

He  raised  his  cane,  and  pointed  it,  like 
an  accusing  finger,  at  the  captain.  "If 
you  can  answer,  it  means  that  you  have 
discovered  that  which  was  hidden  from 
Cicero,  Virgil,  Socrates,  the  heathen  phi- 
losophers, our  Caesars,  all  the  greatest  men 
of  history."  His  voice  dropped.  "The 
riddle  is  not  so  easy,  captain.  The  prob- 
lem cannot  be  dismissed  as  you  would 
dismiss  it.  You  say  you  think  that  one 
should  become  accustomed  to  the  sight 
of  death.  Ah,  but  that  depends  on  what 
[165] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

you  think  death  is  !  Is  it  the  prologue 
to  a  drama,  or  the  next  step  up  a  ladder 
or  the  drop  over  a  precipice,  or  -  "  Xim- 
ines  paused,  "or  haven't  you  decided  in 
your  own  mind  what  it  is  ?  That  is  the 
easiest  way  out  of  the  dilemma,  and  the 
one  most  men  take.  Not  to  decide.  Just 
to  drift."  Ximines'  lips  curled.  "Most 
men  have  no  imagination." 

The  captain  flushed.  Ximines  saw  the 
flush,  and  threw  out  his  hand,  in  apology. 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me.  I  do  not 
mean  to  imply  that  you  belong  to  that 
type.  I  spoke  harshly ;  but  my  irritation 
was  from  this,  that  Cicero,  my  favorite 
author  and  one  of  our  greatest  thinkers, 
could  ask,  'Is  there  a  meeting  place  for 
the  dead  ? '  and  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest 
loss  could  find  no  answer." 

Ximines  turned  toward  Phaedrus. 
"You  are  a  Greek;  do  you  remember 
[166] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

Plato's  lines?"  And  he  began  to  quote, 
closing  his  eyes  and  falling  unconsciously 
into  the  formal  intonation  of  the  schools. 
"'In  respect  to  these  great  questions  of 
immortality  we  must  take  the  best  of 
human  arguments,  and  the  reasoning  that 
is  most  difficult  to  be  answered,  and  build 
those  arguments  into  a  raft,  that  we  may 
sail  across  the  sea  of  life,  until  such  time 
as  we  may  be  carried  more  safely  in  a 
surer  conveyance  furnished  by  a  Divine 
Teacher.'  " 

Ximines   opened   his   eyes   and   looked 
at  the  captain. 

"Do  you  know  who  said  that  ?" 
The  captain  shook  his  head.     Ximines 
turned  again  to  Pha3drus.     "You  should 
know,"    he   said;    "You  were   named,   I 
imagine,  after  one  of  his  disciples."     He 
raised    his    voice    suddenly.     "Socrates ! 
Socrates,   teacher,   moralist,   philosopher ! 
[167] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

The  greatest  intellect  of  the  Greeks  !  And 
that  was  the  best  he  could  say  to  cheer 
himself  along  the  road  to  death  !" 

The  old  lawyer's  eyes  narrowed  cyni- 
cally. 

"Poor  consolation,  that !  Not  very- 
encouraging,  when  a  man  loses  those  who 
are  dearest  to  him  !  Yet  I  would  sooner 
trust  the  judgment  of  those  two  men, 
Cicero  and  Socrates,  than  that  of  all  the 
other  philosophers  who  have  ever  lived  !" 

Phaedrus  watched  the  captain,  wonder- 
ing whether  he  would  try  to  find  an  answer 
to  this  attack.  At  first  the  officer  sat 
silent ;  evidently  he  did  not  care  to  broach 
the  subject  of  the  new  faith.  But  finally 
he  spoke. 

"You  and  I,"  he  said  quietly,  "have 

long  been  at  variance  on  this  question, 

Ximines.     All  I  can  say  is,  the  test  of  a 

man's  theory  is  the  satisfaction  it  gives  him. 

[168] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

Which  is  preferable,  —  your  fear  of  death, 
or  the  courage  my  belief  gives  me?" 
The  captain  dropped  his  eyes.  "Indeed, 
it  seems  to  me  that  your  own  Socrates 
was  on  my  side.  Did  he  not  drink  the 
hemlock  cheerfully  ?  Did  he  not  do  so 
voluntarily,  when  his  friends  had  arranged 
for  him  to  escape  ?"  The  speaker  paused. 
"Socrates  should  encourage  you,  —  he  is 
an  example  to  give  you  hope  !" 

Ximines  closed  his  eyes  again. 

"Hope  —  yes,  but  Socrates  could  only 
hope.  He  was  no  greater  than  the  rest 
of  us  in  this,  —  he  did  not  know.  And 
I  —  who  am  I,  to  attain  such  a  pinnacle 
of  courage?"  He  sat  suddenly  upright, 
arms  outstretched.  "I  tell  you,  I  want 
something  better  than  hope.  I  want  a 
promise!"  His  eyes  blazed.  "Can  you 
give  me  that?" 

There  was  silence.  The  captain  opened 
[169] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

his  lips  to  speak,  and  then  closed  them 
again.  Phsedrus  recalled  a  saying  he  had 
often  heard  from  old  Simonides :  "This 
life  is  but  a  dream.  Some  day,  I  shall 
awake  in  the  summer-land  of  God."  And 
he  realized  that  for  some  reason  the  cap- 
tain's lips  were  tied. 

Soon  the  officer  rose  to  go.  Phsedrus 
accompanied  him  to  the  door.  On  the 
threshold  the  captain  repeated  the  warn- 
ing which  he  had  given  the  boy  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  voyage  from  Ephesus.  "  Be 
careful,"  he  said,  "Ximines  is  keen,  and 
he  is  suspicious."  Then  he  entered  the 
litter  in  which  Ximines'  slaves  were  to 
carry  him  back  to  the  town.  Pha3drus 
returned  to  the  house. 

For  an  hour  he  read  aloud  to  Ximines, 
who  still  seemed  nervous  and  ill  at  ease ; 
then  they  dined  together.  Later,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  old  man's  wishes,  they 
[170] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

walked  together  in  the  garden.  Ximines 
had  little  to  say,  and  Phsedrus  gave  him- 
self to  living  over  again  the  scene  in  the 
library  that  afternoon.  He  could  not 
get  it  out  of  his  mind.  Ximines'  words 
rang  in  his  ears:  "Give  me  a  promise! 
I  want  a  promise  !  Socrates  was  no  greater 
than  the  rest  of  us  in  this,  —  he  did  not 
know!" 

Suddenly  the  boy  realized  that  this  was 
the  crux  of  the  whole  matter.  Had  the 
captain  found  such  a  promise?  Had 
Nicias  and  Simonides  any  answer  that 
could  satisfy  a  man  like  Ximines  ? 

He  remembered  the  rolls  which  he 
had  been  carrying  hidden  all  these  days. 
Nicias  had  evidently  treasured  them; 
undoubtedly  they  contained  some,  if  not 
all,  of  the  teachings  of  this  new  philos- 
opher who  had  won  so  many  followers  to 
the  "Way."  The  thought  awoke  in  him 
[171] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

a  sudden  curiosity.  For  the  first  time, 
he  experienced  a  strong  desire  to  read  the 
stolen  manuscripts. 

It  was  still  early  when  the  old  lawyer 
announced  that  he  would  retire.  Before 
Phsedrus  went  to  his  own  apartment,  he 
made  certain  that  he  was  not  observed, 
and  then  went  out  into  the  darkness  and 
recovered  the  bundle  with  the  gold  cup 
and  the  two  silver  plates.  Then,  taking 
care  that  his  entrance  should  not  be 
noticed,  he  returned  to  the  house  and 
sought  his  own  room. 

He  drew  the  double  curtains  over  the 
door,  that  he  might  have  the  most  pos- 
sible seclusion,  put  the  heavy  bundle  upon 
a  table,  beside  a  bronze  lamp,  and  drew 
Nicias'  rolls  from  his  bosom.  Not  once 
during  all  the  days  on  the  ship  had  he 
opened  the  stolen  manuscripts ;  now  at 
last  he  had  courage  to  examine  them, 
[172] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

and  he  found  himself  trembling  with 
a  strange  excitement.  Always  he  had 
prided  himself  on  what  his  father  had 
called  intellectual  honesty,  —  always  it 
had  been  his  ambition  to  meet  new  ideas 
fairly  and  squarely,  to  hear  the  other  side 
of  the  case,  with  open  mind.  But  the  step 
that  he  was  about  to  take  was  a  direct 
challenge  to  Fate,  a  blow  in  the  face  of 
his  father's  gods.  He  remembered  the 
old  story  of  Pandora  and  her  box,  and 
hesitated.  Then  he  thought  of  old  Simon- 
ides.  He  had  wronged  Simonides,  —  well, 
he  could  at  least  give  the  old  man's  faith 
a  hearing. 

He  spread  the  first  of  the  four  rolls 
upon  the  table  ;  it  was  yellow,  broken  with 
much  use,  stained  here  and  there  with 
sea  water.  At  the  top  of  the  roll  he  saw 
these  words,  "From  a  Scholar  in 
CsBsarea."  At  the  bottom  some  one  had 
[173] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

written:  "Selections  from  a  letter  to  a 
friend,  by  a  physician  who  had  been  a 
slave."  With  ever  increasing  excitement, 
Phaedrus  began  to  read.  He  read  the 
story  of  the  "Lost  Son"  —  the  story  of 
a  father,  who  saw  his  son,  while  he  was 
yet  a  great  way  off,  and  ran  and  fell  on 
his  neck  and  kissed  him.  His  lips  trem- 
bled as  he  read  on  and  on  of  a  God  who 
was  abroad  by  day  and  by  night  to  seek 
and  save  the  lost. 

Little  did  he  think  that  hundreds  of 
years  afterwards,  the  myriad-minded  poet 
was  to  read  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son, 
and  drop  his  head  upon  the  page,  sobbing, 
"  I  would  give  the  whole  world  if  at  twenty- 
one,  never  having  heard  a  word  of  it  in 
advance,  I  had  chanced  upon  this  story 
of  the  Beloved  Physician,  and  as  a  full 
man,  rather  than  as  a  little  child,  had 
heard  it  for  the  first  time  !"  There  were 
[174] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

only  two  hundred  words,  and  yet  to 
Phsedrus  it  was  like  the  appearance  of  a 
new  star  in  the  sky. 

What !  God  not  hard  like  Jupiter  ? 
Nor  harsh  like  Mars?  Nor  vindictive 
like  Minerva  ?  Did  not  his  Socrates  say 
that  every  sinner  must  go  up  marble 
stairs,  heated  red  hot,  before  he  comes 
to  the  throne  of  God  ?  Did  not  his 
Plato  say,  "I  do  not  know  that  God 
can  forgive  sins  ;  I  do  not  know  that 
God  has  any  right  to  forgive  sins  ? " 
And  here  was  One  who  sent  His  sun 
upon  the  evil  and  the  good,  His  rain 
upon  the  just  and  the  unjust,  and  whose 
heart  was  set  upon  His  earthly  child  to 
redeem  him.  Plainly  the  writer  could 
not  describe  in  colors  too  rich  the  soul 
for  whom  his  Master  could  die. 

Gradually  Phsedrus  began  to  under- 
stand the  writer's  conception  of  this 
[175] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Teacher,  who  believed  in  man,  and  loved 
man  as  naturally  as  his  mother  loved  Him, 
loved  as  naturally  as  the  sun  gives  warmth, 
as  the  fountain  gives  water,  as  the  lark 
sings.  The  boy  read  the  second  roll,  grow- 
ing ever  more  and  more  aroused.  He  came 
to  the  story  of  the  cruel  trial,  and  that 
pitiless  execution.  Phsedrus  himself  had 
seen  a  criminal  crucified,  had  heard  a 
revolutionist  babble  and  mutter  as  he 
was  dying  on  the  cross,  all  bespattered 
with  filth  and  mud. 

When  he  came  to  the  words,  "Father, 
forgive  them/'  he  was  torn  with  a  strange 
emotion.  And  when  at  length  he  read 
the  story  of  the  rent  tomb,  and  the  even- 
ing meal  at  Emmaus,  and  the  sudden  rec- 
ognition of  the  two  disciples  who  had  not 
been  able  to  understand  the  good  fortune 
that  had  overtaken  them,  it  came  to  his 
comprehension  that  he  had  found  the 
[176] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

answer  to  Ximines'  question.  He  heard 
again  the  cry,  "Give  me  a  promise  !  Can 
you  give  me  that?"  And  he  knew  that 
all  that  the  great  Socrates  had  dreamed, 
and  hoped  for  and  tried  in  vain  to  prove, 
this  new  Orpheus  had  revealed  as  a  per- 
sonal experience.  He  recalled  the  words 
Ximines  had  quoted  from  Cicero:  "Is 
there  a  meeting  place  of  the  dead  ?"  And 
as  if  in  answer,  his  eyes  fell  on  these  lines, 
"In  my  father's  house  are  many  mansions. 
If  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you." 
He  read  on  breathlessly,  with  a  desper- 
ate questioning,  one  hand  at  his  throat 
in  a  clutch  of  excitement.  His  lips  be- 
came dry  and  parched,  his  limbs  stiff  with 
sitting  motionless.  He  finished  the  second 
roll  and  the  third,  and  came  to  the  last. 
In  an  agony  of  despair  he  saw  how  short 
it  was.  If  he  could  only  know  more,  — 
now,  this  night,  this  very  moment !  He 
N  [177] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

finished  the  last  roll.  It  was  as  if  a  pris- 
oner, confined  in  a  dungeon,  had  caught, 
through  the  tiny  opening  in  his  cell,  a 
whisper  that  help  was  near.  But  only  a 
whisper.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  hear  more 
of  that  Voice ! 

The  night  was  far  gone,  when  Phsedrus 
finally  put  aside  the  rolls  and  lay  down 
to  sleep.  A  hundred  questions  besieged 
his  mind,  a  hundred  doubts  assailed  him ; 
in  a  single  moment,  as  it  were,  the  faith 
of  his  fathers  had  lost  its  compelling 
power.  But  underneath  the  doubt,  and 
the  emotion,  and  the  sense  of  confusion, 
Phsedrus  felt  exalted,  and  a  strange,  sweet 
happiness  filled  his  heart.  It  was  as  if  a 
sunbeam  had  stolen  into  a  dark  room,  to 
fall  upon  an  open  book;  as  if  a  fire  was 
burning  on  the  hearth,  making  the  cheer 
the  brighter  because  of  the  hail  and  snow 
without  the  window. 

[178] 


THE  STOLEN  ROLLS 

He  could  not  sleep.  He  rose,  lit  the 
bronze  lamp  once  more,  and  walked  back 
and  forth  in  the  dim,  flickering  light.  He 
began  to  think  of  Ximines,  and  love  for 
the  old  lawyer  sprang  up  in  his  heart  like 
a  fountain  in  a  garden.  The  old  Stoic 
seemed  brave  and  just,  above  other  men. 
He  had  treated  the  boy  like  a  second 
father,  and  now  Phsedrus  realized  how 
great  was  his  admiration  and  affection  for 
one  of  the  best  men  he  had  ever  known. 

But  suddenly  Phsedrus  stopped  and 
stood  still.  For  the  first  time  he  saw  what 
Ximines  lacked.  The  great  man  was  like 
a  silver  lamp  that  had  not  yet  been 
lighted ;  like  a  splendid  vine  that  was 
yet  to  bloom  and  fruit ;  like  a  glorious 
palace  waiting  for  the  family  to  cross  the 
threshold ;  like  the  statue  of  a  noble 
Stoic,  with  face  chiselled  in  the  finest 
marble,  but  awaiting  the  touch  of  love  to 
[179] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

grow  warm  and  flush  with  life.  Without 
perceiving  the  strangeness  of  the  contrast, 
Phfiedrus  thought  of  old  Simonides,  un- 
taught, ignorant,  a  slave,  yet  beautiful  in 
his  goodness  and  ripened  by  his  love.  The 
comparison  was  illuminating.  It  brought 
home  in  a  flash  the  real  essence  of  the  new 
teaching,  and  the  lesson  Phsedrus  drew 
from  it  shook  him  in  every  fibre  of  his 
being. 


[180] 


OTBRJVGUS 
dippsic 


CHAPTER   VI 


THE   NEW  ORPHEUS,  AND   HIS   WORLD  MUSIC 

HE  sun  had  risen  before 
the  boy  was  able  to  quiet 
his  thoughts  and  fall 
asleep.  It  was  still  early 
morning  when  Arbaces 
finally  called  him  ;  he  had 
had  only  a  few  hours' 
rest,  but  he  wakened  to  unexampled  hap- 
piness. At  last  the  sun  had  cleared  itself 
of  clouds.  If  winter  was  in  the  air,  sum- 
mer was  in  the  boy's  soul.  As  yet  he 
had  not  analyzed  his  happiness ;  he  knew 
only  that  he  loved  these  wonderful  rolls, 
and  that  sometime,  somehow,  he  must 
take  the  stolen  treasure  back  to  Nicias. 
How  he  was  to  do  it,  when,  with 
[183] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

what  excuses  to  Ximines,  and  what  effect 
upon  his  future,  he  did  not  know  and  he 
scarcely  cared.  The  thought  of  the  joy 
which  the  return  of  the  manuscripts  would 
bring  to  the  two  old  friends  in  Ephesus 
was  enough  to  set  his  mind  at  rest  and  his 
heart  at  peace. 

From  Arbaces  he  learned  that  Ximines 
was  in  the  library,  busy  with  a  Roman 
officer.  The  visitor  was  the  commander 
of  the  garrison  at  Puteoli.  Ximines  had 
not  slept  well,  said  the  slave,  and  he 
hoped  that  the  officer's  call  would  be 
brief.  But  an  hour  passed,  and  the  officer 
did  not  depart ;  a  second  hour  went  by, 
and  a  third ;  it  was  well  toward  noon 
before  Arbaces  finally  brought  word  to 
the  boy  that  Ximines  wished  to  see  him. 

Phaedrus  found  the  old  man  seated  in 
his  favorite  chair,  his  hand  over  his  eyes, 
every  line  of  his  body  expressing  weari- 
[184] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

ness.  As  Ximines  looked  up,  Phsedrus 
saw  that  his  face  was  haggard. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  lawyer  gruffly,  "I 
suppose  you  have  been  wondering  what  has 
kept  me  so  long."  He  motioned  to  a 
chair.  "We  do  not  seem  to  be  leading  the 
quiet  life  I  described  to  you  on  the  boat." 

Phsedrus  was  shocked  by  the  change  in 
the  old  man's  appearance.  Ximines 
seemed  grayer,  weaker,  older  by  many 
years  than  he  had  seemed  the  day  before. 

"I  hope,"  Phsedrus  answered,  "that  you 
have  had  no  bad  news." 

Ximines  smiled  bitterly.  "Bad  news? 
That  depends,  as  your  friend  the  captain 
would  say.  I  have  had  a  warning,  —  a 
hint,  a  polite  intimation  from  the  govern- 
ment that — "  he  waved  his  hand,  "that 
certain  matters  must  be  attended  to." 

He  sighed.  "  One  grows  lax  as  one  grows 
old.  I  have  lived  easily  the  last  few  years ; 
[185] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

I  had  all  but  forgotten  what  a  struggle 
life  is."  He  smiled  grimly.  "But  I  have 
been  given  a  reminder,  a  brief  notice 
that  I  must  carry  out  —  such  and  such 
orders."  He  laughed  sadly,  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice  sent  a  shiver  over  the 
listening  boy,  "Carry  them  out,  or  lose 
my  property.  And  one's  property  in 
such  a  case  includes  one's  life."  He 
glanced  sidewise  at  Phaedrus.  "I  suppose 
the  captain  would  console  me  by  telling 
me  that  this  life  is  not  desirable." 

For  an  instant  Phsedrus  thought  Ximi- 
nes  was  speaking  in  jest.  Then  he  realized 
that  behind  his  light  manner  the  old  man 
was  in  deadly  earnest. 

"What  has  happened  ?  "  the  boy 
gasped,  as  he  realized  that  peril  was  near. 

Ximines  looked  away.  "Many  things. 
Things  of  which  you  and  I  know  nothing. 
Events  at  Rome.  Nero  has  lost  his  temper. 
[186] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS. 

He  has  drunk  more  than  is  good  for  him 
before  breakfast.  He  has  —  "  Ximines 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What  does  it 
matter  ?  Nero  is  only  an  animal,  a  beast 
of  a  singularly  low  order  of  intelligence. 
It  is  idle  to  try  to  trace  his  motives." 

The  old  man  paused.  "Nero  has  not 
always  been  a  beast.  I  can  remember 
when  he  was  a  different  person.  Twenty 
years  ago  he  was  a  promising  boy.  But  a 
generation  has  passed  since  then.  Some 
men  descend  from  the  top  of  the  palace 
by  stairways,  step  by  step.  Nero  leaped 
into  the  abyss  as  from  his  palace  window." 
Ximines  seemed  to  lose  himself  in  his 
thoughts. 

"But  the  order?"  Phasdrus  asked.  "Is 
it  an  order  you  can  easily  carry  out  ?" 

Ximines  straightened  in  his  chair.  His 
manner  changed.  He  became  once  more 

the  lorceful  mind,  the  vigorous  thinker. 
[187] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

"Easily?  No.  Not  easily.  But  I  can 
carry  it  out.  For  I  must."  He  raised 
his  cane,  and  pointed  it  in  characteristic 
fashion  at  the  boy.  "Learn  while  you 
are  young  that  the  prizes  of  life  go  to  the 
fighter.  Not  to  the  most  fortunate,  or  the 
most  gifted,  or  the  most  deserving,  but 
to  the  man  who  is  willing  to  fight.  Look 
at  me  !  I  am  old,  I  am  wealthy,  you  have 
put  me  down  in  your  mind  as  the  favorite 
of  fortune,  —  I  tell  you  I  have  had  to 
fight  for  everything  that  I  have  !  And 
the  battle  never  ends."  His  voice 
trembled.  "I  thought  I  was  one  of  the 
exceptions.  I  thought  to  rest  a  little  in 
my  old  age.  I  cannot.  The  challenge 
has  come  again.  I  must  take  up  my  arms 
and  defend  myself."  His  eyes  flashed. 
"Well,  I'll  fight.  They  mean  to  finish  me 
this  time,  —  but  I'll  fight."  An  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him.  "Yes,  and  you  can 
[188J 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

help  me.  I  had  counted  on  you  to  give 
me  a  little  happiness  in  my  old  age ;  who 
knows,  you  may  be  the  means  of  making 
that  old  age  possible  ! "  His  voice  dropped 
to  the  quiet  deliberate  tone  of  the  lawyer. 
"I  mean  what  I  say ;  you  may  be  able  to 
save  my  life.  And  if  you  do  — "  he 
hesitated,  "I  have  no  other  heirs." 

Phsedrus  caught  his  breath. 

"I  do  not  understand." 

Ximines  looked  up.  "The  story  is  a 
long  one,  —  I  will  not  go  into  it  now.  It 
is  enough  that  last  week  Nero  went  one 
step  too  far  in  his  career  of  debauchery 
and  crime.  Rome  is  aroused.  Now  he 
must  justify  himself,  —  quiet  the  popu- 
lace." 

Phaedrus  interrupted  unconsciously. 

"What  has  Nero  done?" 

Ximines  frowned.  "He  has  given  a 
garden  party,  and  conceived  the  idea  of 
[189] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

using  human  beings  as  candelabra.  Nero 
is  crazed  over  the  idea  of  novelty.  He 
wants  to  be  called  a  creator,  —  a  man  of 
imagination.  So,  while  his  victims  poured 
out  their  dying  shrieks,  he  sat  on  a  plat- 
form and  played  a  dirge  of  his  own  com- 
position." 

Ximines  closed  his  eyes,  as  though  to 
shut  out  the  picture.  "Enough  of  that ! 
When  I  have  a  banquet,  I  like  violets  on 
the  table.  Nero  likes  the  odor  of  burning 
flesh.  When  you  and  I  eat,  we  like  to 
hear  soft  music.  Nero  enjoys  the  groans 
and  shrieks  of  the  dying." 

"But  what,"  PhaBdrus  asked,  "has  all 
this  to  do  with  you  ?" 

"Everything.  Having  persecuted  and 
tortured  the  followers  of  the  new  'Way/ 
Nero  must  now  prove  that  they  deserve 
such  treatment.  He  has  discovered  that 
Puteoli  is  the  place  where  the  new  super- 
[190] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

stition  first  appeared  in  Italy ;  and  he  in- 
tends to  direct  the  attention  of  the  public 
to  the  awful  crimes  of  these  Christians,  as 
they  are  called.  These  people  have  not 
committed  any  atrocities.  No  matter ! 
Nero  has  not  lost  all  his  cunning.  The 
next  move  in  the  game  is  easy.  When 
the  citizens  are  aroused,  turn  their  fury 
against  other  offenders  !  Nothing  could 
be  simpler.  Nero  has  offended ;  these 
strangers  to  our  gods  must  suffer."  He 
hesitated.  "Well,  some  one  must  find 
the  Followers  before  they  can  be  made 
to  suffer.  It  is  not  easy;  they  are  loyal 
to  each  other ;  they  have  good  reason  to 
be.  The  task  of  arresting  them  is  not  a 
grateful  one.'7  He  glanced  at  PhaBdrus. 
"Do  you  begin  to  understand?  I  have 
never  been  a  favorite  of  the  Emperor. 
He  dislikes  me ;  his  father  before  him 
hated  mine.  He  has  tried  more  than 
[191] 


THE  STORY  OF  PJ&EDRUS 

once  to  see  that  I  was — "  Ximines 
smiled,  "put  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle. 
Now  he  sees  his  opportunity  to  rid  the 
country  of  a  tiresome  old  man.  What 
could  be  better  strategy  than  to  give  me 
the  task  of  unearthing  this  superstition, 
root  and  branch,  —  of  stamping  it  out 
once  and  for  all,  while  there  is  yet  time? 
Nero  is  cunning,  I  tell  you,  and  he  has 
played  his  hand.  If  I  fail,  or  if  I  refuse 
to  undertake  the  commission,  —  well,  I 
will  pay  the  usual  penalty.  I  am  like 
every  other  member  of  my  class ;  I  hold 
my  estate  subject  to  the  Emperor.  Unless 
I  search  out  these  folk,  set  spies  upon 
them,  arrest  them,  send  them  to  Rome 
for  execution,  I  will  wake  up  one  morning 
to  find  the  messengers  at  my  door,  with 
an  order  for  my  execution.  And  a  few 
days  later,  my  villa  will  go  to  another 

favorite." 

[192] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

Ximines  sank  back  in  his  chair,  breath- 
ing deeply.  Phsedrus  knew  that  every 
word  he  had  uttered  was  true.  There 
was  a  long  silence.  Finally  the  boy  asked  : 

"But  why  does  Nero  think  there  are 
followers  of  the  —  of  this  superstition  here 
inPuteoli?" 

Ximines  did  not  answer  at  first.  He  sat 
motionless,  eyes  closed,  his  left  hand 
drumming  nervously  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  Then  with  a  start  he  spoke. 

"  Here  in  Puteoli  ?  Well,  it  fell  out  after 
this  fashion.  Several  years  ago  a  boat  was 
wrecked  on  a  rocky  point  in  Sicily.  The 
captain  lost  his  head.  In  every  emer- 
gency the  strongest  man  in  the  crowd  is 
the  natural  king.  There  was  a  prisoner 
on  board  named  Paul,  who  took  charge  of 
the  sailors  and  the  passengers.  He  suc- 
ceeded in  calming  them  enough  to  get 
them  all  safely  ashore.  One  of  the  passen- 
o  [ 193  ] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

gers  saved  was  a  Sicilian,  —  that  silver- 
smith at  whose  shop  I  left  your  gold  and 
silver  plates.  He  brought  this  man  Paul 
as  his  guest  to  his  house,  and  before  the 
man  went  up  to  Rome  for  his  trial  he  had 
induced  a  little  group  to  become  followers 
of  the  new  superstition.  Last  year  there 
was  some  trouble  over  this  nest  of  hornets. 
I  believe  one  slave  was  tortured  by  the 
government  officials,  but  he  would  not 
betray  the  names  of  his  associates.  I 
think  the  company  was  broken  up,  and  the 
movement  quite  stamped  out.  Save  for 
these  two  incidents  I  have  heard  little  of 
these  people.  It  will  be  very  difficult  to 
lay  hands  on  them." 

He  sighed.  "But  it  must  be  done. 
The  unpleasant  task  is  always  the  most 
pressing  task.  I  hate  especially  to  hound 
these  people  because  I  have  always  liked 
those  of  them  that  I  have  known.  One  of 
[194] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

my  slaves,  I  was  once  told,  was  a  follower 
of  the  'Way.'  He  was  the  best  slave  I 
have  ever  had ;  I  could  wish  that  all  my 
slaves  were  of  his  faith  if  they  could  be- 
come like  him."  Ximines'  voice  became 
matter-of-fact.  "However,  he  was  born 
honest  and  faithful/'  and  he  added,  "One 
thing  is  certain,  —  we  must  begin  a  secret 
investigation,  and  that  immediately.  For 
when  the  day  comes  that  the  Emperor  has 
fixed  for  the  victims  to  arrive  in  Rome, 
they  will  have  to  be  there,  whether  inno- 
cent or  guilty." 

He  planted  his  cane  before  him,  and 
folded  his  hands  firmly  over  the  silver 
knob. 

"Let  us  come  to  the  point,"  he  said. 
"I  am  a  hard  man,  Phaedrus,  and  I  have 
a  plain  proposition  to  put  before  you.  As 
you  know,  if  I  die  without  heirs,  my  villa 
will  go  to  the  Emperor.  If  I  fail  to  carry 
[195] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

out  this  order,  it  will  go  to  him.  But  if  I  do 
not  fail,  the  villa  will  go  at  my  death  "  — 
Ximines  gazed  searchingly  at  the  boy's 
face  —  "to  the  man  or  woman  I  make  my 
heir.  During  the  last  few  days  I  have 
begun  to  count  upon  you  to  make  me 
happy ;  I  have  dreamed  a  dream,  that  I 
could  persuade  you  to  stay  on  with  me 
here,  perhaps  as  my  secretary.  My  chil- 
dren are  dead,  my  old  friends  are  all  dead ; 
I  am  very  lonely.  It  may  be  that  this 
order  of  Nero's  is  a  sign;  it  may  be  the 
portent  of  good  fortune  for  you,  and  a 
warning  from  the  gods  to  me,  that  I  may 
not  lose  you,  by  undervaluing  you."  He 
paused.  "Suppose  I  turn  this  whole  in- 
vestigation over  to  you  ?  Suppose  that 
with  my  assistance  you  succeed  in  destroy- 
ing this  nest  of  wasps  ?  Suppose  that  you 
can  deliver  to  the  Emperor  these  followers 
of  the  new  superstition?  Nero  will  use 
[196] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

them  as  a  blind  to  hide  his  own  guilt. 
You  will  have  done  him  a  valuable  service. 
You  will  find  that  you  have  saved  my  life 
and  all  my  property.  The  least  that  I 
could  do,"  Ximines  spoke  slowly,  "would 
be  to  make  you  my  heir." 

Phffidrus  found  himself  turning  hot  and 
cold  at  once.  There  arose  before  his 
mind's  eye  the  faces  of  Nicias  and  his 
companions  at  that  midnight  meeting  in 
Ephesus.  He  saw  the  face  of  old  Simoni- 
des,  who  had  risked  life  itself  for  his  sake, 
and  perhaps  had  lost  it.  Save  his  own 
father,  they  seemed  to  PhaBdrus  the  noblest 
men  he  had  known.  His  whole  attitude 
toward  life  had  changed  in  the  last  twelve 
hours ;  he  was  suddenly  conscious  that  his 
sympathies  were  with  the  followers  of  the 
"Way."  But  he  understood  Ximines, 
and  his  admiration  for  the  lawyer  had 
become  reverence  and,  at  last,  affection. 
[197] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

Ximines  saw  his  confusion. 

"I  know  that  this  is  a  strange  offer  I 
am  making  you." 

Phsedrus  stared  at  the  floor  with  unsee- 
ing eyes.  He  felt  that  he  must  have  time 
to  think.  In  his  heart  he  knew  that  he 
could  never  carry  out  the  old  man's  wish ; 
yet  he  could  find  no  words  in  which  to 
answer. 

He  threw  out  a  question  to  hide  his 
emotion. 

"You  say  the  Sicilian  was  a  passenger 
on  that  boat,  and  has  been  suspected  of 
being  a  follower  of  the  —  of  this  super- 
stition?" 

Ximines  nodded.  There  was  a  smile  on 
his  face  as  he  rose  from  his  chair.  He 
interpreted  the  boy's  question  as  a  sign 
of  acquiescence,  and  his  eyes  shone  with 
pleasure.  "I  have  known  the  Sicilian 
for  many  years.  I  have  bought  marbles 
[198] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

and  bronzes  of  him :  he  is  a  man  above 
reproach,  —  the  soul  of  integrity.  If  he 
is  a  follower  of  this  —  this  sect,  then  he 
must  be  allowed  to  escape."  Ximines' 
eyes  twinkled  for  the  first  time  that  morn- 
ing. "I  have  never  known  but  three 
honest  art  dealers.  The  first  of  them  was 
the  Sicilian  about  whom  we  have  been 
talking,  and  the  second  one  was  this 
Sicilian,  and  the  third  one  was  this 
Sicilian,  and  there  is  no  fourth." 

Phsedrus  was  glad  to  see  the  return  of 
Ximines'  good  spirits,  but  his  heart  was 
heavy  as  he  thought  of  the  problem  which 
confronted  him.  Whichever  way  he 
turned,  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  injure 
some  one  ! 

He    was    silent    throughout    the    noon 

meal,  listening  absently  to  Ximines'  talk 

of  Rome  and  of  the  Emperor.     He  could 

not  rid  himself  of  the  vision  of  that  scene 

[1991 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

in  Nicias'  house,  —  of  the  noble  men  and 
women  he  had  met  there,  of  old  Simonides, 
rising  up  to  tell  his  story.  Could  it  be 
that  these  people  deserved  death  by  tor- 
ture, that  he,  Phaedrus,  was  to  be  the 
instrument  of  their  sufferings  ?  The  very 
thought  of  Ximines'  words  made  him 
shudder :  "  Innocent  or  guilty,  when  the 
day  comes,  they  must  be  in  Rome  !" 

Was  it  possible  that  Ximines  could  have 
meant  that  ? 

He  was  relieved  when  Ximines  retired 
to  his  room.  He  went  out  into  the  garden, 
and  sat  down  on  the  bench  where  the 
Sicilian  slave  had  found  him  the  day  before. 
The  sun  shone  warm,  the  bay  sparkled, 
in  the  distance  Vesuvius  sent  up  the  same 
lazy  column  of  smoke.  Nothing  seemed 
to  have  changed ;  yet  how  much  had 
occurred  since  then  ! 

He  tried  to  weigh  his  problem  calmly, 
[200] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

judicially,  and  he  discovered  that  he  could 
not.  The  thought  of  hounding  the  fol- 
lowers as  Ximines  would  have  him,  was 
out  of  the  question ;  after  what  he  had 
read  last  night,  he  could  never  do  that ! 
But  he  must  do  something ;  either  he 
must  tell  Ximines  of  his  unwillingness  to 
betray  the  followers,  or  he  must  deceive 
Ximines  himself.  And  at  best,  such  a 
deception  could  only  lead  to  ultimate  dis- 
aster. Decide  he  must.  Was  he  to  take  his 
place  in  the  ranks  of  the  followers,  and  see 
Ximines  lose  his  estate  and  perhaps  his  life, 
or  was  he  to  see  the  friends  of  Simonides 
and  the  captain  die  in  agony  for  the  sake 
of  Ximines,  and  his  own  advancement  ? 

In  despair,  he  rose  and  paced  the  garden 
path,  striving  to  find  a  way  out  of  the 
dilemma.  Suddenly  the  thought  came  to 
him,  —  Ximines  might  already  have  ad- 
vised the  authorities  to  watch  the  Sicilian's 
[201] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

house  !  The  followers  were  at  this  very 
moment  in  danger.  He  must  act  instantly, 
if  he  was  to  act  at  all. 

Sheer  inability  to  remain  inactive  be- 
came a  compelling  motive.  He  looked  at 
the  sun  and  saw  that  it  was  yet  early  in 
the  afternoon.  He  looked  across  the  vine- 
yards to  the  distant  roofs  of  the  town,  and 
calculated  the  time  it  would  take  him  to 
come  and  go.  Then  he  slipped  quietly 
down  the  path,  across  the  long,  flat  ter- 
races, to  a  narrow  gate  in  the  garden  wall. 

The  gate  opened  easily ;  he  looked  once 
over  his  shoulder,  to  see  that  no  one  had 
observed  his  departure,  and  then  passed 
through,  through  and  out  upon  the  broad 
highway  that  led  to  Puteoli.  He  had  no 
definite  plan.  He  did  not  know  what  he 
was  going  to  do.  He  only  knew  that  he 
must  warn  the  followers. 

The  stolen  rolls  had  begun  their  work. 
[202] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

Slowly  they  had  transformed  the  thief. 
Phsedrus  had  begun  to  love  what  once 
he  hated. 

An  hour  later,  he  stood  at  the  door  of 
the  Sicilian's  shop.  The  silversmith  him- 
self answered  his  knock,  and  apparently 
recognized  him,  for  he  smiled,  and  held 
out  both  hands. 

"I  have  been  expecting  you,"  he  said 
eagerly.  "Come  in." 

He  led  the  way  through  the  shop,  across 
a  narrow  court,  into  a  large  room  filled 
with  sacks  of  grain  and  vegetables.  The 
place  was  dimly  lit;  heavy  bunches  of 
grapes  hung  from  poles  suspended  along 
the  walls,  and  the  air  was  fragrant  with  the 
odor  of  raisins  and  figs.  The  Sicilian 
crossed  the  room  and  fumbled  at  the  lock 
of  a  heavy  door.  The  lock  gave;  the 
door  opened,  and  the  little  shopkeeper 
bowed  to  Phaedrus. 

[203] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"To  the  public,"  he  said,  "I  live  in  a 
stable.  Not  to  my  friends." 

Phsedrus  entered  another  large  room, 
lighted,  like  all  the  houses  of  that  day,  by 
a  square  opening  in  the  ceiling.  On  the 
floors  were  the  rarest  old  rugs ;  the  walls 
were  hung  with  the  richest  tapestries;  it 
was  as  if  Phsedrus  had  entered  the  room  of 
a  prince  or  an  emperor.  He  looked  at  the 
bronzes,  the  ivories,  the  rich  glass,  and 
unconsciously  showed  his  amazement. 

The  Sicilian  smiled  at  his  surprise. 

"A  man  must  have  one  house  for  his 
work,"  he  said,  "one  for  his  home.  You 
have  seen  where  my  mind  lives :  this  is 
where  my  heart  dwells."  And  he  motioned 
Phsedrus  to  a  chair. 

His  greeting  still  echoed  in  Phsedrus'  ears. 

"You  have  been  expecting  me?"    he 
asked,  "I  do  not  understand.     I  thought 
that  the  meeting  was  to  be  to-night.* 
[204] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

The  Sicilian  nodded. 

"It  was  to  have  been  to-night/'  he 
answered,  "but  word  reached  me  an  hour 
ago  of  your  interview  with  Ximines." 
He  did  not  smile  this  time  at  Phsedrus' 
astonishment.  "You  know  we  must  have 
friends  at  court,  or  we  cannot  live  in  safety. 
There  are  followers  even  in  Caesar's  house- 
hold." He  paused  significantly. 

"Then  you  knew  that  — " 

"  That  a  message  had  come  from  Rome  ? 
Assuredly.  I  knew  this  morning  that  the 
commander  of  the  garrison  was  with 
Ximines,  and  I  heard  this  afternoon  of  the 
offer  Ximines  had  made  you."  The 
Sicilian  smiled  ingenuously.  "But  I  knew 
we  could  trust  you.  I  knew  you  would 
come,  or  send  us  warning."  He  held  out 
his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  sincerity.  "For 
of  course  if  you  choose  to  betray  us,  we 
are  already  lost." 

[205] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Phsedrus  was  disturbed.     The  man  was 
taking  everything  for  granted. 

"I  have  come/'  he  admitted,  "to  warn 
you  that  you  are  in  grave  danger,  but  - 
he  hesitated,  still  undecided  in  his  own 
mind  what  to  say. 

The  Sicilian  did  not  wait  for  him  to 
continue. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  said  rapidly, 
"whether  you  understand  the  conditions 
here  in  Puteoli.  There  are  only  half  a 
dozen  families  that  belong  to  the  'Way.' 
Most  of  them  were  taken  across  the  bay 
this  morning  in  a  fishing  boat,  to  an  old 
farm  belonging  to  my  father;  there  they 
will  hide  until  the  storm  has  passed. 
The  storm  will  not  last  long;  already 
the  people  are  outraged  at  Nero's  cruelty." 
He  paused.  "If  it  were  not  that  Ximines 
has  been  given  the  commission  to  prosecute 
us,  I  should  say  that  there  was  little  to  fear." 
[206] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

Phsedrus  saw  his  opportunity. 

"  But  that  is  it !  Ximines  has  been 
given  the  commission  !  And  that  is  what 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about."  He  hesi- 
tated. "I  had  hoped,  to  become  Xim- 
ines' secretary,  —  to  live  with  him  as  his 
friend  and  assistant,  at  least  for  some 
time  to  come.  He  has  offered  me  that 
position.  But  now  that  this  blow  has 
fallen,  it  seems  that  I  must  give  up  my 
plans.  I  must  either  carry  out  Ximines' 
wishes,  or  leave  him."  Phaedrus  looked 
squarely  up  at  the  Sicilian.  "Now  I  am 
going  to  be  frank  witli  you.  I  once 
wronged  a  man,  —  a  man  who  was  my 
best  friend,  and  a  follower  of  the  'Way.' 
At  the  time  I  wronged  him,  I  was  not  a  — 
I  had  scarcely  heard  of  the  'Way.'  I 
did  not  know  of  the  Master's  life,  nor 
understand  His  teachings.  The  wrong  I 
did  was  a  great  one.  I  have  repented  of 
[207] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

it  bitterly.  No  sacrifice  that  I  can  now 
make  for  the  'Way'  will  be  too  great. 
But  suppose  I  give  up  my  intention  of 
accepting  Ximines'  offer,  —  what  about 
Ximines?"  Phsedrus  hesitated.  "I  feel 
that  I  owe  him  a  great  debt.  And  I  have 
a  real  affection  for  him.  He  is  old,  lonely, 
melancholy.  Moreover,  he  says  he  is  in 
danger  of  losing  his  life  if  he  fails  to  carry 
out  the  Emperor's  orders.  What  am  I  to 
do?  What  is  he  to  do?  What  will 
happen  to  him?"  Phsedrus'  voice  rose, 
"I  am  in  a  horrible  position  !  On  either 
hand  is  an  abyss,  —  death,  perhaps  tor- 
ture, for  my  friends.  And  whatever  I  do, 
I  am  to  feel  that  I  am  guilty  of  their 
sufferings."  He  stopped,  panting.  "Oh, 
I  know  what  you  will  say.  I  must  refuse 
Ximines'  offer,  and  prepare  to  leave  his 
house.  I  am  going  to  do  that.  But  what 
about  Ximines?  What  will  Nero  say  to 
[208] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

his  refusal  to  obey?  Something  must  be 
done  to  save  Ximines,  too  !" 

The  Sicilian  nodded  slowly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "something  should  be 
done  to  save  Ximines,  too." 

Voices  sounded  in  the  outer  room ;  the 
little  silversmith  went  to  the  door  and 
opened  it.  Four  men  stood  in  the  door- 
way. 

The  Sicilian's  manner  changed. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

The  newcomers  shook  their  heads. 

"Nothing,"  said  one  of  them,  "but  we 
remembered  the — "  He  saw  Phsedrus 
and  stopped. 

"Go  on;"  said  the  Sicilian,  "he  is  one  of 
us;"  and  he  ushered  the  men  into  the  room. 

"We  remembered,"  went  on  the  new 
arrival,  "that  the  gold  cross  was  left  here 
at  the  last  meeting,  and  has  not  been 
p  [209] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

taken  back  to  its  hiding-place."  He 
paused.  "We  thought  it  would  be  wise 
to—" 

The  Sicilian  nodded. 

"A  good  idea."  He  turned  to  Phsedrus, 
who  had  risen  from  his  chair.  "This 
young  man,"  he  said,  "is  that  friend  of 
Ximines  of  whom  the  captain  told  us. 
He  is  a  follower  of  the  Master,  and  he 
has  risked  much  to-day,  in  order  to  come 
and  warn  us."  He  laid  his  hand  affec- 
tionately upon  Phsedrus'  shoulder.  "I 
had  hoped  to  have  him  with  us  at  our 
meeting  to-night,  but,"  he  stopped,  to 
draw  up  a  chair  for  the  crippled  slave, 
"I  fear  we  five  are  the  only  followers  left 
in  Puteoli  since  this  morning's  exodus." 

The  other  smiled,  but  Phsedrus  did  not 
join  them.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of 
the  risk  these  men  were  running  by  re- 
maining in  the  city. 

[210] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

One  of  the  merchants  noticed  his  sober 
expression. 

"I  trust/'  he  said,  "you  have  heard 
nothing  further  to  alarm  us."  He  threw 
a  questioning  look  toward  the  Sicilian, 
who  shook  his  head. 

"No/7  he  answered  for  the  boy,  "but 
you  have  done  the  wise  thing,  in  getting 
your  families  away  so  soon."  He  glanced 
at  Phaedrus.  "We  have  been  discussing 
what  may  seem  at  this  time  a  rather 
strange  problem,  —  the  possible  fate  of 
Ximines." 

The  other  man  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Of  Ximines?" 

"His  fate  in  case  he  fails  to  carry  out 
his  orders."  The  Sicilian  paused,  "the 
question  is  a  very  pertinent  one." 

Phaedrus  was  astonished  to  see  the  other 
men  nod  agreement.  That  the  Sicilian 
should  feel  thus  was  not  strange,  for 
[211] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Ximines  had  spoken  of  the  long-standing 
friendship  between  the  two,  but  that  the 
others  should  entertain  any  thoughts  but 
of  hatred  for  the  man  who  was  about  to 
hunt  them  down  like  wild  animals,  seemed 
unbelievable. 

The  crippled  slave  spoke  suddenly, 
from  the  chair  to  which  the  Sicilian  had 
led  him. 

"I  have  always  pitied  Ximines,"  he 
said.  His  voice,  rich  and  deep  and  res- 
onant, carried  a  note  of  unaffected  sin- 
cerity which  left  Phsedrus  dumfounded. 
A  crippled  slave,  pitying  a  rich  old 
lawyer ! 

The  Sicilian  took  up  the  note. 

"Life  became  bitter  to  Ximines,  when 
his  wife  died,  years  ago.  That  was  the 
end."  He  paused,  and  then  added  re- 
flectively, "I  have  sometimes  thought  that 
Ximines  could  have  been  won  over  to 
[212] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

the  'Way/  if  the  right  man  could  have 
gone  to  him  at  the  right  time.  I  tried, 
many  times,  but  always  in  vain."  His 
tone  became  one  of  regret.  "It  has  been 
one  of  the  great  disappointments  of  my 
life  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  interest 
Ximines  in  the  faith." 

Phaedrus  heard  him  with  amazement. 

"Has  Ximines  then  been  told  the  Mas- 
ter's story?"  he  asked. 

"In  part.  Not  all  of  it.  I  could  never 
get  far  with  him.  Xiuiines  is  intensely 
loyal ;  his  one  great  ideal  in  life  has  been 
Cicero.  And  Cicero,  of  course,  had  much 
to  say  for  the  old  religion." 

The  voice  of  the  crippled  slave  rose 
again. 

"Ximines  will  be  one  of  us  before  he 
dies.     I  feel  it.     I  know  it.     And  I  have 
seen  it  in  my  dreams.     At  this  very  mo- 
ment Ximines  is  all  but  a  follower !" 
[213] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"Impossible!"  Phsedrus'  voice  rang 
out  as  he  laughed  aloud.  "Why,  I  heard 
him  say  this  very  morning  that  — " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  the  thought  of 
Ximines'  words  the  day  before  ringing  in 
his  ears.  "Give  me  a  promise!"  The 
sentence  suddenly  carried  a  new  meaning. 

"Nothing  is  impossible/'  returned  the 
cripple.  His  voice  filled  the  room ;  there 
was  a  depth  and  sweetness  in  it  that 
moved  Phaedrus  strangely.  Something  — 
a  certain  detached,  far-away  note  in  the 
voice  —  impressed  the  boy.  The  words 
seemed  to  stir  the  others  as  well.  There 
was  a  silence.  Then  the  Sicilian  spoke. 

"You  saw  it  in  a  —  ?" 

"In  a  dream."  The  slave's  voice  was 
firm.  "Have  I  been  mistaken  thus  far?" 
He  struggled  out  of  the  chair,  and  stood, 
his  eyes  on  Phaedrus,  one  hand  thrown  out 
prophetically.  "To  Joseph  was  given  the 
[214] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

power  to  unfold  the  meaning  of  dreams. 
For  the  Master's  sake  I  suffered  agony  in 
these  my  limbs  ;  I  would  not  betray  Him  ; 
and  because  I  would  not,  He  has  given  me 
the  power  to  see  what  other  men  see  not. 
I  see  Ximines,"  he  pointed  a  trembling 
hand  toward  Phsedrus,  "your  friend  Xim- 
ines,  borne  home  in  a  chariot  of  light. 
For  he  believes,  —  in  his  heart  he  be- 
lieves !  And  before  he  dies,  he  will  con- 
fess to  you  that  he  believes  !" 

In  childhood,  Ph^drus  had  once  been 
taken  by  his  father  to  the  famous  oracle 
at  Delphi.  There,  in  the  old  and  wonder- 
ful temple,  before  the  sacred  cleft  in  the 
rocks,  out  of  which  issued  a  veil  of  silvery 
smoke,  Phsedrus  had  heard  the  voice  of 
the  oracle,  chanting  the  charmed  verse. 
And  now,  as  he  listened  to  this  slave's 
utterance,  —  to  this  voice,  so  weird,  so 
vibrant,  so  compelling  in  the  stillness  of 
[215] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  room,  he  thought  of  that  far-away 
hour  in  his  youth  and  was  strangely 
moved. 

The  spell  was  broken  by  the  Sicilian. 

"I  pray  God  that  you  may  be  right," 
he  said  simply,  and  he  turned  to  the 
others.  "Do  you  wish  to  take  the  cross 
with  you?" 

They  nodded.  Phsedrus  remembered 
his  purpose  in  coming. 

"You  have  not  told  me,"  he  said, 
"whether  you  have  any  suggestion  as  to 
the  course  I  am  to  pursue." 

The  little  silversmith  paused,  frowning. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "no,  I  have  no 
suggestion.  It  is  a  very  difficult  problem. 
Ximines  — " 

He  never  finished.  Phsedrus,  watching, 
saw  the  man's  face  go  suddenly  white  as 
death. 

There  was  an  instant's  ghastly  silence, 
[216] 


—  then  the  boy  turned.  In  the  doorway 
stood  Ximines  himself,  on  either  side  of 
him  a  soldier. 

Phsedrus'  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating. 
He  stood  frozen.  The  others  were  as 
motionless  as  rock. 

All  but  the  crippled  slave.  He  struggled 
once  more  out  of  his  chair,  and  pointed  a 
twisted  hand  at  Ximines. 

"There  !"  he  cried,  "There  !  The  hour 
has  come  !  The  hour  has  come  !  Xim- 
ines has  seen  the  light !''  He  turned  and 
seized  the  arm  of  the  man  beside  him. 
"He  has  chosen!  Ximines  has  chosen! 
He  too  has  seen  the  light ! " 

Ximines  broke  in,  short  and  sharp. 

"Silence !"  He  stepped  forward  into 
the  room.  To  Phsedrus,  he  looked  twenty 
years  younger  than  he  had  looked  that 
morning.  The  light  of  action  was  in  his 
eye;  Phsedrus  realized  suddenly  how  the 
[217] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

old  lawyer  must  have  looked  in  the  prime 
of  life. 

"Arrest  these  men !"  Ximines  called 
over  his  shoulder,  "take  their  names,  and 
iron  them." 

He  turned  to  Phsedrus,  and  his  voice 
was  crisp :  — 

"You  have  done  well.  This  is  a  good 
day's  work." 

His  eyes  fell  on  the  Sicilian;  without 
the  slightest  change  of  expression,  he 
looked  away  and  beyond :  "  That  man  by 
the  table  is  innocent.  Allow  him  to  go  free." 

He  glanced  once  more  around  the  room, 
then  beckoned  to  Phsedrus. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  the  house  will  be 
searched." 

Phsedrus  grew  cold.  There  could  be 
no  evasion.  He  looked  at  the  Sicilian. 

The  little  man  was  standing  by  the  table, 
head  up,  eyes  flashing,  undaunted.  There 
[218] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

was  no  cowardice  there  !  The  sight  nerved 
Phffidrus  to  his  task. 

"Ximines,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 
dry  and  hard,  "I  cannot  go  with  you  !  I 
belong  with  these  men.  I  — " 

Ximines  turned  like  a  flash. 

"  Silence  !  Are  you  mad  ?  You  are  in- 
criminating yourself!"  He  beckoned  to 
his  slaves.  "Get  the  soldiers  in  here! 
Arrest  these  men !  Take  them  to  the 
garrison  !"  His  voice  broke  with  excite- 
ment. All  his  strength  seemed  suddenly  to 
desert  him.  He  was  once  more  an  old  man. 

Phaedrus  saw  the  change.  The  words 
of  the  crippled  slave  came  back  to  him. 

"Ximines  !"  he  cried,  "I  cannot  go  with 
you !  I  cannot  be  a  party  to  such  a 
crime  as  this.  I  cannot  do  it,  because  I, 
too,  am  a  follower  of  the  - 

"Ah!"  Ximines  swayed  in  the  door- 
way. It  was  as  if  the  boy  had  struck  him. 
[219] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"I  am  a  follower,"  Phaedrus  went  on, 
"and  I  am  a  follower  through  you  !  You 
made  me  one  !  Do  you  hear  ?  You  made 
me  one!"  His  voice  rang  out.  "You 
asked  for  a  promise,  and  I  sought  a  prom- 
ise for  you.  I  found  it !" 

Ximines  closed  his  eyes. 

"Will  you  come  with  me?"  he  asked, 
and  his  voice  was  a  whisper. 

Phsedrus  shook  his  head. 

"Then  you  are  under  arrest!"  Xim- 
ines turned  to  the  officer  who  stood  behind 
him.  "Seize  this  man  !  And  that  man, 
also."  He  pointed  to  the  Sicilian.  "Have 
them  brought  to  my  house  under  guard." 
His  voice  seemed  to  fail  him.  "Have 
them—" 

The  color  left  his  face.     He  raised  one 

hand  to  his  throat.     His  eyes  opened  wide. 

He   swayed,    and   then,    as   a   tall   tower 

slowly    collapses,    fell,    unconscious,    into 

[220] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

the  arms  of  the  slave  who  stood  beside 

him. 

***** 

Darkness  was  falling  as  Phsedrus  and  the 
Sicilian,  accompanied  by  an  armed  guard, 
arrived  at  Ximines'  villa.  During  the 
long  march  from  Puteoli,  Phaedrus  had 
been  too  excited  to  think  clearly.  His 
mind  was  filled  with  the  horror  of  the  prob- 
able fate  of  the  Sicilian  and  his  friends. 
Over  and  over  again  the  little  silversmith 
insisted  that  he  would  not  desert  his 
friends,  and  Phsedrus  knew  that  he  would 
keep  his  word.  The  boy  thought  of 
Simonides,  and  felt  a  strange  going  out 
of  his  heart  toward  the  old  slave.  He 
too  had  risked  everything  for  his  convic- 
tions. Physically,  Phsedrus  was  separated 
from  him  by  hundreds  of  miles,  but  in 
spirit  he  stood  beside  Simonides  and  com- 
muned with  him. 

[221] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

The  thought  of  his  own  danger  did  not 
move  him.  He  found  it  impossible  to  be- 
lieve that  Ximines  would  deliver  him  to 
the  Roman  officers.  Youth  is  always  hope- 
ful; Phsedrus  remembered  the  old  man's 
generosity  and  felt  secure.  Deep  in  his 
heart  he  knew  that  Ximines  would  save 
him. 

He  wondered  what  was  the  meaning  of 
the  old  man's  collapse.  He  recalled  the 
look  on  Ximines'  face ;  it  was  as  if  he 
had  been  going  through  a  part  against 
his  will.  The  words  of  the  crippled  slave 
returned  to  the  boy :  "Ximines  believes  ! " 

And  looking  back  upon  the  scene, 
Phsedrus  realized  that  his  own  confession 
had  broken  through  the  mask,  —  had  torn 
aside  the  veil,  and  transformed  the  actor 
into  the  man.  The  thought  renewed  his 
hope.  There  might  be  time  yet  to  save 
the  Sicilian. 

[222] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

Arbaces  stood  at  the  door  of  the  villa. 
His  orders  were  that  Phaedrus  be  taken  to 
his  own  apartment.  The  Sicilian,  like- 
wise, was  to  have  an  apartment  of  his 
own.  The  guard  was  to  surround  the 
house  and  see  that  no  one  left  it. 

The  soldiers  gathered  in  a  little  group 
about  their  leader.  Arbaces  led  Phsedrus 
and  the  Sicilian  into  the  house.  Phsedrus 
asked  for  Ximines. 

The  old  man  had  announced,  said  Ar- 
baces, that  he  would  see  no  one.  He 
seemed  exhausted  by  the  afternoon's  exer- 
tions. Arbaces  thought  his  master  would 
retire  early. 

Phsedrus  left  the  others  and  crossed  the 
court  to  his  own  room.  He  drew  the 
double  curtains  over  the  door,  and  looked 
about  him.  The  same  bronze  lamp 
burned  on  the  table,  the  same  flickering 
light  played  about  the  corners  of  the 
[223] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

room;  it  was  as  if  he  had  never  left  it. 
He  went  over  and  caught  up  the  cloak 
in  the  great  pocket  of  which  he  kept  the 
treasured  rolls.  He  would  read  the  words 
of  that  Master  for  whom  he  was  risking 
so  much. 

To  his  horror,  the  rolls  were  gone.  He 
looked  wildly  about  him,  —  hurriedly 
searched  the  cloak  a  second  time,  tried 
the  chest  where  he  had  put  the  gold  and 
silver.  They  too  were  gone !  Then  it 
flashed  over  him. 

Ximines  had  found  them !  One  of  the 
servants  had  discovered  them  and  taken 
them  to  his  master.  From  the  gold  cup 
and  the  two  plates  Ximines  had  had  his 
hint  to  go  to  the  silversmith's  ! 

The  discovery  crushed  the  boy.  Where 
he  had  hoped  to  warn,  he  had  betrayed, 
—  where  he  had  meant  to  save,  he  had 

destroyed  !    Now  he  would  be  to  blame 
[224] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

for  the  Sicilian's  death,  and  the  death  of 
the  four  others. 

He  thought  suddenly  of  Arbaces. 
Could  the  slave  have  entered  the  room 
and  searched  the  cloak  ? 

Arbaces  knocked  at  that  very  moment ; 
he  brought  food  for  the  boy.  Phsedrus 
could  trace  no  sign  of  emotion  in  the  man's 
face.  He  might  have  been  a  statue,  for 
all  the  interest  he  displayed  in  Phsedrus 
or  the  boy's  affairs. 

He  went  out  and  Phaedrus  tried  in 
vain  to  eat.  An  hour  went  by.  The  boy 
began  to  pace  the  room  in  an  agony  of 
doubt.  Fear  is  largely  loneliness,  and 
Phsedrus  began  to  feel  that  he  was  deserted 
in  his  extremity.  His  pace  grew  quicker, 
he  walked  with  his  teeth  set,  his  hands 
clenched,  his  mind  concentrated  on  the 
struggle  to  keep  alive  his  courage. 

He  must  not  weaken  !  He  must  make  a 
Q  [225] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

fight  for  the  Sicilian,  for  the  crippled  slave 
and  for  the  others.  He  must  be  true  to  the 
standard  the  little  Sicilian  had  set  him  in 
the  moment  of  their  discovery. 

Another  hour  went  by.  Suddenly,  as 
he  paced  the  room,  Phsedrus  felt  a  strange 
peace  begin  to  flood  his  soul.  It  was  as  if 
a  black  cloud  had  suddenly  lifted  from 
the  sky,  leaving  a  blaze  of  sunlight  to 
flood  in  upon  him,  as  if  he  had  been 
carrying  a  heavy  load,  only  to  have  it 
lifted  by  another,  stronger  arm.  For  some 
strange  reason,  he  thought  again  of  the 
crippled  slave. 

"Ximines  believes  !  He  will  confess  to 
you  that  he  believes  before  he  dies  !" 

A  sort  of  premonition  came  over  the 
boy.  It  was  as  if  he  had  heard  Ximines 
say,  "I  belong  to  the  Way." 

He  found  himself  standing  still,  his 
heart  pounding  violently ,  He  listened. 
[226] 


THE  NEW  ORPHEUS 

The  house  was  quiet.  Without  knowing 
why,  he  went  to  the  door  and  drew  aside 
the  curtains.  There  was  no  light  in  the 
court. 

Moved  by  a  strange  impulse,  he  crossed 
the  court,  and  stood  in  the  door  of  the 
library. 

The  old  lawyer  was  sitting  at  the  table 
where  he  always  did  his  writing.  A 
bronze  lamp  stood  on  the  table ;  Ximines 
sat  facing  it,  his  back  toward  Phaedrus. 
His  head  was  bent  low,  as  if  he  could 
scarcely  see. 

The  sight  brought  tears  to  the  boy's 
eyes.  He  knew  that  Ximines  could  no 
longer  read  without  pain.  Half  uncon- 
sciously he  spoke. 

"Ximines." 

The  old  man  did  not  move. 

"Ximines !"     A    sudden    panic    seized 
Phsedrus.     He  crossed  the  room. 
[227] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

The  old  man's  chin  was  resting  on  his 
hands ;  his  hands  were  folded  across  the 
gold  cup  Phsedrus  had  taken  from  Nicias' 
house.  His  eyes  were  closed,  but  in  front 
of  him,  lying  side  by  side  where  he  had 
evidently  placed  them,  were  two  sheets 
of  manuscript.  A  small  ivory  portrait 
of  a  woman  rested  on  one  of  the  pages, 
and  fastened  to  it,  a  handful  of  dried, 
withered  flowers. 

Phsedrus  touched  Ximines'  arm.  Then 
he  caught  his  breath.  The  old  lawyer 
was  dead. 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  glanced 
at  the  two  sheets  of  manuscript.  One 
was  a  page  from  Nicias'  roll;  the  other 
was  covered  with  Ximines'  own  hand- 
writing. 

Mechanically,  the  boy  began  to  read. 
Across  the  top  of  the  page  he  saw  the  now 
familiar  words  of  Cicero :  "Is  there  a 
[228] 


THE  NEW  ^ORPHEUS 

meeting  place  for  the  dead  ?  "  And  after 
them,  copied  carefully  by  the  old  man's 
trembling  hand,  those  other  words,  which 
the  captain  had  quoted  to  the  dying 
slave-boy:  "Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled.  Ye  believe  in  God,  believe 
also  in  me.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for 
you.  And  if  I  go,  I  will  return  again, 
that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be  also." 

But  what  moved  Phsedrus  with  awe, 
was  what  seemed  to  be  an  official  order, 
stamped  with  Ximines'  own  seal.  The 
words  seemed  to  leap  out  of  the  page  to 
meet  his  eyes ;  he  grew  faint  as  he  read. 

Ximines  had  written  an  order  for  the 
release  of  all  the  prisoners. 


[229] 


CHAPTER  VII 

HOW    WE   GOT   THE   GREATEST   BOOK   IN   THE 
WORLD 

HE  first  thought  that 
entered      the      boy's 
mind  was  that  he  must  summon 
Arbaces.     Then  his  eyes  fell  on 
the   page  of  Nicias'   manuscript, 
and  he  realized  that  he  was  not 
yet  out  of   danger.      That  page 
alone  was  evidence  enough  —  to 
condemn     the    Sicilian    and    all 
the  other  followers. 

He  began  to  understand  that  from  one 
view-point  his  position  was  far  worse 
than  it  had  been  before.  While  Ximines 
had  lived,  he  had  had  one  friend  at  least 
who  could  protect  him.  Now,  should  the 
[231] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

Roman  officials  disregard  Ximines'  order, 
there  would  be  no  hope  of  his  escaping. 
He  must  hide,  or  destroy,  every  trace  of 
the  manuscript,  which  could  still  bring 
ruin  upon  him.  And  he  must  do  so  in- 
stantly. 

As  he  caught  up  the  page,  he  noticed  the 
other  rolls  lying  on  a  chair  beside  the  table. 
With  the  same  swiftness  of  thought  which 
had  come  to  him  that  night  in  Nicias' 
house,  he  gathered  the  loose  sheets  in  his 
arms,  and  crossed  the  room.  In  a  corner 
stood  a  tall  bronze  vase ;  he  reached  up 
and  dropped  the  precious  pages  into  it, 
one  by  one. 

Then  he  tiptoed  back  to  the  table,  raised 
the  old  man's  head,  and  drew  from  be- 
neath the  folded  hands  the  gold  cup  and 
the  silver  plates.  Very  gently  he  lowered 
Ximines'  head  again,  until  it  rested  on  the 

ivory  portrait. 

[232] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

Suddenly  he  heard  voices.  A  cold  sweat 
broke  out  upon  him.  What  if  he  be  dis- 
covered here,  by  the  side  of  the  dead  man  ? 
In  a  panic,  he  abandoned  all  thought  of 
hiding  the  gold  and  silver.  He  stood 
motionless,  listening.  Fate  was  kind  to 
him  again.  Gradually  the  voices  died 
away  in  some  distant  part  of  the  house; 
he  awoke  to  the  frenzied  pounding  of  his 
heart,  and  the  consciousness  of  the  cold 
moisture  on  his  brow. 

With  limbs  that  still  trembled,  he  moved 
to  the  door,  and  looked  out  upon  the  court. 
Through  the  opening  in  the  roof,  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  sky,  pricked,  like  black 
velvet,  with  tiny  threads  of  gold.  He 
drew  in  a  deep  breath,  thrust  the  gold 
cup  and  the  two  plates  into  the  folds  of 
his  tunic,  and  crossed  the  court. 

Once  inside  his  own  room,  he  felt 
safer.  If  he  could  only  hide  the  treasure 
[233] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

for  another  twenty-four  hours !  He 
searched  the  room  for  a  place  to  conceal 
the  suspicious-looking  bundle,  but  he 
could  find  nothing  that  satisfied  him.  At 
last,  in  despair,  he  realized  that  he  must 
fall  back  on  his  original  plan,  and  keep  the 
treasure  in  the  great  pocket  of  his  cloak. 

He  had  no  more  than  reached  this 
decision  before  he  heard  Arbaces'  voice, 
raised  in  alarm.  There  was  a  sudden  rush 
of  steps  across  the  court.  Ximines'  death 
had  been  discovered. 

He  drew  aside  the  curtains,  and  joined 
the  Sicilian,  who,  he  found,  was  already 
in  the  court. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "     The  little  man  asked. 

Phsedrus  was  about  to  answer  when 
Arbaces  appeared  in  the  door  of  the  li- 
brary. 

"Ximines !"    he    cried,  and    his    voice 
shook,  "Ximines  is  dead  !" 
[234] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

He  led  the  way  back  into  the  library. 
The  officer  in  command  of  the  guard 
was  standing  by  the  table ;  his  entrance 
had  occasioned  the  discovery  of  Ximines' 
death.  He  looked  up  as  Phaedrus  and 
the  Sicilian  approached. 

"There  is  something  suspicious  about 
this/'  he  said.  "Here  is  an  order  of  re- 
lease signed  and  sealed  by  Ximines."  He 
glanced  at  the  Sicilian.  "Do  you  know 
anything  about  this  ?" 

The  little  man  shook  his  head  ;  he  could 
scarcely  believe  his  good  fortune. 

The  officer  looked  at  Phsedrus. 

"I  can  find  no  signs  of  violence/'  he 
went  on;  "and  there  seems  to  be  no  good 
reason  for  doubting  that  this  order  is 
genuine,  except — "  He  paused;  while 
Phaedrus'  heart  stood  still,  "except  that 
Ximines  was  not  a  man  to  do  things  by 
impulse.  Why  he  chose  to  arrest  you  this 
[235] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

afternoon  and  to  release  you  this  evening, 
I  do  not  know.  However/'  —  the  officer 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  —  "he  appears  to 
have  done  so." 

He  began  to  fold  up  the  manuscript. 

"I  shall  send  at  once  to  the  commander 
of  the  garrison.  But  as  the  hour  is  al- 
ready late,  it  will  be  nearly  morning  before 
word  will  reach  here  in  answer  to  my  mes- 
sage. Until  then,  I  can  only  say  that  you 
will  still  be  under  guard." 

He  bowed  and  withdrew.  Ximines' 
slaves  had  gathered  about  the  door ;  now 
they  entered,  and  at  Phaedrus'  bidding 
prepared  to  carry  the  body  of  their  master 
into  his  own  room.  The  thought  struck 
the  boy  that  on  the  morrow  there  would 
be  no  one  to  take  charge  of  the  household. 
He  voiced  it  to  the  Sicilian. 

"That   is   true,"    said   the   little   man. 
"But  I  do  not  know  that  it  matters  now. 
[236] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

The  Emperor  will  receive  the  estate,  and 
the  slaves  will  be  sold  to  other  masters. 
For  the  present,  Arbaces  can  take  charge, 
as  he  has  always  done." 

Phsedrus  forgot  the  slaves,  in  the 
thought  of  his  own  future. 

"Well,"  he  whispered,  "what  will  hap- 
pen to  us?  Shall  we  be  released  to- 
morrow, or  shall  we  be  held  on  the  evi- 
dence against  us?" 

The  Sicilian  smiled.  His  old  manner 
had  returned  to  him. 

"Evidence?  What  evidence?  We 
have  been  careful,  ever  since  the  escape 
we  had  last  year,  to  keep  nothing  that 
could  betray  us  in  Puteoli."  He  waved 
his  hand.  "There  is  no  evidence." 

Phaedrus  touched  his  arm.  "What 
about  the  gold  cross  ?"  he  asked,  "the  one 
your  friends  came  to  get  ?" 

"It  has  not  been  found.  I  hid  it  my- 
[237] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

self."  He  paused  significantly.  "When 
a  man  deals  in  precious  metals,  he  must 
know  how  to  hide  his  valuables.  I  have 
been  doing  it  all  my  life." 

"Then  you  think  we  will  be  allowed  to 
go  free?" 

"For  a  few  hours,  yes.  Fortunately 
the  commander  of  the  garrison  left  Puteoli 
this  afternoon,  not  to  return  until  to- 
morrow. He  alone  is  to  be  feared.  The 
moment  he  returns  he  will  rearrest  us 
in  the  hope  of  winning  the  reward  Nero 
has  offered.  That  is  our  real  danger 
now."  He  saw  the  alarm  in  the  boy's 
eyes.  "  But  do  not  be  afraid ;  this  is 
not  the  first  time  I  have  been  in  this  situ- 
ation. We  shall  be  freed  early  in  the 
morning,  and  by  noon  we  shall  be  out 
of  their  reach." 

The  Sicilian  took  the  boy's  arm,  and 
led  him  to  his  own  apartment. 
[238] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

"Let  us  talk  awhile,"  he  said,  "before 
retiring.  You  will  not  sleep  now,  I  am 
sure."  And  he  ushered  Phsedrus  into  the 
room,  and  drew  the  curtain  behind  him. 
"Of  course  there  is  one  subject,"  he  added, 
"that  we  cannot  discuss.  Even  the  walls 
have  ears." 

He  seated  himself  near  the  boy  and 
began  to  speak  of  Ximines  and  the  old 
lawyer's  career.  He  talked  well,  and 
talked  with  a  purpose,  for  he  appreciated 
Phsedrus'  anxiety ;  but  with  all  his  wealth 
of  anecdote  and  charm  of  manner  he  failed 
to  hold  the  boy's  attention.  Phsedrus' 
mind  strayed  continually,  —  now  to  the 
scene  at  the  Sicilian's  house,  now  to 
Ephesus  and  the  meeting  of  the  followers 
there,  now  to  that  moment  when  he  had 
found  the  old  lawyer  bowed  over  the 
wonderful  words  of  the  Master.  Try  as 
he  would,  he  could  not  free  himself  from. 
[239] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  thought  of  the  morrow,  and  what  it 
might  bring.  Would  the  day  mean  free- 
dom, the  release  of  the  Sicilian's  friends, 
or  fresh  disappointment,  re-arrest,  im- 
prisonment ? 

Again  and  again  he  forced  himself 
to  listen  to  the  Sicilian ;  again  and  again 
he  found  himself  shuddering  with  the 
thought  of  the  torture  he  might  have  to 
endure.  It  was  long  after  midnight 
before  he  left  the  silversmith,  and  then 
it  was  not  to  sleep,  but  to  pace  his 
room  as  he  had  paced  it  the  previous 
night,  in  a  fever  of  excitement.  Toward 
morning  he  forced  himself  to  lie  down, 
and  for  a  few  short  hours  he  slept,  fit- 
fully, to  be  re-awakened  by  the  Sicilian's 
knock  at  dawn. 

He  rose,  haggard  and  heavy-lidded,  and 
learned  that  the  soldiers  had  departed. 
The  Sicilian  was  all  energy ;  he  pointed 
[240] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

to  the  sunlight  falling  on  the  floor  of  the 
court,  and  smiled  encouragingly. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "we  have  no  time  to 
lose." 

He  took  the  gold  cup,  which  Phsedrus 
gave  him,  and  hid  it  in  his  own  tunic. 
Then  he  showed  the  boy  how  to  carry  the 
cloak  so  that  it  would  not  betray  the  objects 
within  it,  and  led  the  way  out  of  the  room. 

Phsedrus  stopped  him  at  the  door  of  the 
library. 

"Wait,"  he  said,  and  he  swept  aside  the 
curtains,  "I  have  something  more."  He 
crossed  the  deserted  room  and  drew  the 
loose  sheets  of  Nicias'  manuscript  from 
the  bronze  vase. 

The  Sicilian  was  beside  him  instantly. 
Together  they  rolled  the  separate  pages 
into  one  small  cylinder. 

A  slave  entered  the  room.    He  looked 
inquiringly  at  Phaedrus. 
K  [241] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

"There  is  a  messenger  outside.  He 
says  he  must  speak  with  the  silversmith." 

Phsedrus  followed  the  Sicilian  through 
the  outer  court  to  the  door.  A  man  was 
standing  on  the  gravel  walk,  —  a  tall 
figure,  in  a  white  tunic.  He  raised  both 
hands  and  made  a  sign,  his  voice  ringing 
jubilantly  on  the  morning  air. 

"  Nero  is  dead  !  " 

"You  are  free  !     Word  came  from  Rome 
last  night.     His  persecution  is  over  ! 
#  #  #  •*  # 

So  it  came  about  that  a  few  weeks  later 
Phsedrus'  dream  was  fulfilled,  and  he 
visited  the  great  capital  of  the  empire, 
not  as  a  prisoner  in  chains,  but  as  a  free- 
man, travelling  with  his  companions  to  the 
Eternal  City. 

True    to    the    silversmith's    prediction, 
Ximines'   villa  was  appropriated  by  the 
Emperor,  the  slaves  were  sold  at  public 
[242J 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

auction,  a  new  master  came  to  the  great 
house  on  the  hill.  For  a  few  days  Phsedrus 
stayed  with  the  Sicilian ;  then  he  accepted 
an  invitation  to  accompany  a  party  of 
merchants  by  boat  around  to  Ostia,  and 
thence  by  carriage  to  Rome. 

Once  in  the  capital,  he  left  his  new 
friends,  and  sought  out  a  jeweller,  a 
follower  of  the  "Way,"  to  whom  the 
Sicilian  had  given  him  letters.  This  man 
was  the  leader  of  the  little  company  in 
Rome,  and  one  of  the  first  things  he  did 
was  to  take  Phsedrus  to  a  secret  meeting 
in  the  Catacombs.  These  dark  aisles  of 
the  dead  had  been  used  by  the  followers 
during  the  bitter  persecution,  and  though 
the  danger  was  over  for  the  hour,  these 
underground  rooms  were  still  used,  and 
Phsedrus  was  eager  to  attend  a  midnight 
meeting. 

He  found  the  city  of  the  dead  to  be  a 
[243] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

city  vaster  than  the  metropolis  of  men  in 
the  blue  air  above.  Situated  just  outside 
the  walls  of  Rome,  these  dim  aisles  wound 
for  miles ;  some  of  them  had  been  deserted 
for  a  full  hundred  years,  and  there  the 
leaders  of  the  "Way"  assembled  on  nights 
of  rain  and  storm,  when  all  other  men 
were  in  their  own  houses.  It  was  with 
a  feeling  akin  to  awe,  that  Phsedrus  made 
his  way  through  the  deserted  caverns  where 
generations  long  since  dead  were  sleeping, 
rank  upon  rank,  tier  upon  tier,  thou- 
sands upon  thousands.  And  as  he  stood 
up  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  torches, 
and  looked  into  the  faces  of  the  little  group 
which  was  there  to  meet  him,  he  under- 
stood for  the  first  time  the  strange  charm 
and  power  of  the  Master's  idea  of  death 
and  immortality. 

It  was  in  the  Catacombs,  at  a  meeting 

held  there  some  nights  after  his  arrival  in 
[244] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

Rome,  that  Phaedrus  first  told  the  story 
of  his  theft  of  Nicias'  rolls,  and  how  the 
reading  of  the  Master's  words  had  changed 
his  outlook  on  life.  Then  it  was  that  he 
first  stated  the  decision  made  the  day  of 
Ximines'  death,  —  that  he  would  make 
his  way  back  to  Ephesus,  and  return  to 
Nicias  the  golden  cup,  the  two  silver  plates, 
and  the  stolen  rolls. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  his  story  when 
he  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  from  the 
rear  of  the  little  assembly.  A  Captain 
from  Puteoli,  said  the  voice,  had  spread 
the  information  that  Pheedrus  knew  how 
to  prepare  the  papyrus  which  was  used  for 
manuscripts.  Why,  asked  the  speaker, 
could  Pha?drus  not  make  a  copy  of  Nicias' 
rolls,  for  the  followers  in  Rome,  before  he 
took  them  back  to  Ephesus? 

It  seemed  that  it  was  their  misfortune 
that  they  had  no  full  story  of  the  Master's 
[245] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

life  and  work.  At  this  time  they  pos- 
sessed but  a  few  scattered  sayings,  and 
Phsedrus'  small  rolls  represented  wealth 
immeasurable.  They  joined  in  urging  the 
boy  to  fulfil  this  request,  and  Phsedrus 
found  himself  assenting  gladly.  In  those 
days  when  life  was  uncertain,  strong  men 
acted  with  instant  and  decisive  energy. 
Phsedrus  saw  his  life  spread  out  before 
him  like  a  rich  map,  and  having  decided 
what  he  was  to  do,  delayed  not  a  moment 
in  the  doing  of  it. 

The  sole  treasure,  he  discovered,  of  the 
followers  of  the  "Way"  in  the  Catacombs 
was  a  collection  of  rude  notes  jotted  down 
by  a  Roman  centurion  who  had  been 
stationed  in  Palestine.  It  seemed  that 
this  man  had  been  a  warm  friend  of  one 
Mark,  whose  name  Phsedrus  found  on  one 
of  the  sheets  of  papyrus.  As  a  final  gift, 
this  man  Mark  had  written  out  for  the 
[246] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

soldier  his  notes,  made  from  the  recollec- 
tions of  one  of  that  inner  circle  that  had 
once  stood  close  to  the  Master.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  centurion's  notes  were  dis- 
connected, but  Phsedrus  saw  instantly  that 
it  would  easily  be  possible  to  so  bring  the 
incidents  together  as  to  make  a  single 
story. 

He  decided  to  make  the  attempt.  Dur- 
ing the  succeeding  weeks,  he  lived  with  a 
lawyer's  clerk  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
often  working,  for  fear  of  arousing  sus- 
picion, in  the  Catacombs  themselves.  His 
task  proved  a  pleasant  one,  and  as  he 
toiled,  the  boy  began  to  reflect  upon  the 
influence  which  these  rolls  were  exerting 
on  his  life.  Here  were  a  few  pages,  torn, 
as  it  were,  out  of  a  career  packed  with 
thrilling  events,  and  these  few  pages  held 
only  a  few  days  in  the  life  of  the  new 
Orpheus.  Why  should  not  full  memoirs 
[247] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

be  written,  and  handed  forward  to  other 
generations?  In  some  way  young  Plato 
and  Xenophon  had  collected  their  mem- 
orabilia for  Socrates ;  but  if  the  Greek 
teacher  had  had  the  greatness  of  intellect, 
Phsedrus  felt  that  his  Master  had  the 
greatness  of  God.  The  boy  determined 
that  he  would  not  only  return  the  stolen 
manuscript  to  Nicias,  he  would  first 
of  all  follow  each  disciple  back  to  his  home 
in  Galilee,  in  the  hope  of  gathering  up  every 
reminiscence  of  his  Master,  and  trans- 
ferring the  thrilling  story  to  an  illuminated 
page.  Here  was  an  ambition  really  worth 
while. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  he  had  cared 
little  for  his  artistic  gifts,  when  he  had 
placed  no  value  upon  his  skill  with  pen 
and  brush.  Now  the  very  thought  of 
papyri  holding  the  Memorabilia  of  his 
Master,  with  all  the  pages  made  beautiful 
[248] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

with  gold  and  blue  and  crimson,  set  his 
heart  beating  fast.  In  that  hour  Phsedrus 
envied  no  prince  his  palace.  Come  soon 
or  late;  if  life  held  out,  he  would  bring  to 
that  old  chest  in  Nicias'  house  every  un- 
recorded reminiscence  that  the  world  held. 
He  was  young,  he  was  strong,  he  was  free, 
he  could  wear  rags,  he  could  eat  crusts, 
he  could  toil  without  tire,  and  at  the 
end  of  his  quest  was,  not  the  Golden 
Fleece  of  Jason,  but  the  golden  speech  of 
God. 

The  more  he  worked  over  the  stained 
rolls,  the  more  they  fascinated  him;  he 
was  forever  spreading  out  the  pages,  and 
re-reading  the  wonderful  words.  He  lin- 
gered over  the  story  as  a  miser  lingers  over 
his  gold,  as  a  prince  lingers  over  his  jewels ; 
and  the  more  he  dwelt  upon  it,  the  more 
eager  he  was  to  have  others  share  with 
him  in  his  discovery. 

[249] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Every  morning  he  was  up  with  the  sun, 
dampening  the  long,  narrow  strips  of  the 
papyrus,  drying  them  in  the  wind,  polish- 
ing the  surface  that  it  might  hold  the  soft 
colors.  Because  he  loved  the  task,  his 
work  grew  swiftly  under  his  hands,  while 
his  manhood  also  grew  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
The  days  came  and  went;  he  finished 
one  copy,  and  at  the  request  of  the  fol- 
lowers, began  a  second. 

Then  events  began  to  conspire  to  for- 
ward the  boy's  plan.  It  seemed  that 
the  previous  year  word  had  gone  forth 
to  double  the  taxes  of  the  people  in  the 
East ;  Damascus,  Syria,  and  Egypt  had 
been  swept  by  the  tax-gatherers,  as  by  a 
plague  of  locusts.  The  publican,  with 
his  company  of  soldiers,  had  swept  the 
peasant's  hut  for  the  last  grain  of  wheat, 
and  the  land-owner's  house  for  the 
last  copper.  The  revolt  that  had  long 
[250] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

smouldered  began  to  burst  into  flame. 
Men  out  of  every  province  started  to  Rome 
to  make  their  protest.  All  the  caravans 
and  ships  converged  toward  the  Imperial 
City.  There  were  merchants  from  the 
towns  of  the  Euphrates,  and  from  the  cities 
of  Galilee ;  traders  from  Arabia  and  the 
Upper  Nile;  soldiers  from  Palestine; 
travellers  from  Smyrna  in  the  East,  and 
Hippo  on  the  West ;  centurions,  judges, 
rich  land-owners,  and  sheiks  from  the 
desert ;  all  had  come  to  present  their 
grievance  before  the  court  of  last  appeal. 

Then  it  was  that  what  seemed  misfor- 
tune to  some  people,  proved  to  be  good 
fortune  for  all  mankind.  Among  these 
strangers  from  the  East  were  many  who 
had  become  secret  followers  of  "The 
Way."  Soon  they  found  out  the  story 
of  the  church  in  the  Catacombs.  Thanks 
to  the  secret  signals,  they  were  able  to 
[251] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

make  their  way  into  the  hidden  chambers 
beneath  the  great  city  that  was  sleeping 
in  the  darkness  above.  Some  of  the 
strangers  were  in  Rome  but  for  a  single 
night,  others  were  there  for  many  weeks. 
Often,  after  the  meeting  was  over,  a 
stranger  would  wait  to  tell  Phsedrus  the 
story  of  some  roll  he  had  read,  or  some 
parable  he  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  some 
follower,  perhaps  now  dead,  a  parable 
which  he  had  committed  to  memory,  and 
which  he  now  recited  to  Phsedrus,  that  the 
young  Greek  might  make  a  record  of  the 
event  and  preserve  it  among  the  treasured 
rolls. 

From  a  citizen  of  Nazareth,  he  received 
the  story  of  the  rich  young  ruler,  who 
made  "The  Great  Refusal."  This  man 
also  showed  Phsedrus  a  tiny  bit  of  goat's- 
skin  wrapped  in  soft  white  silk.  On  it 
was  written  the  story  of  the  Transfigura- 
[252] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

tion  of  Jesus.  From  another  traveller 
he  obtained  a  small  brick  tablet,  made  by 
some  man  with  the  sculptor's  gift.  The 
tablet  was  terra-cotta,  and  the  black  lines 
had  been  burned  into  the  clay.  There 
were  two  holes  in  the  top  of  the  tablet; 
that  had  been  suspended  by  a  tiny  chain, 
and  hung  upon  a  wall,  that  the  sculptor 
might  have  it  ever  before  him.  In  the 
centre  was  the  profile  of  a  teacher  in  the 
act  of  stretching  out  his  hands  to  receive 
a  little  child,  and  beneath  were  these 
words,  "Whoso  receiveth  one  little  child 
in  my  name  receiveth  Me." 

But  it  was  from  the  family  of  a  dead 
soldier  that  Phaedrus  obtained  his  great 
treasure.  This  officer  had  been  stationed 
in  the  region  made  famous  by  Xenophon's 
story  of  the  march  of  the  Ten  Thousand. 
For  years  he  had  lived  in  the  city  of 

Lystra.     There  he  had  found  little  to  oc- 
[253] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

cupy  his  mind.  It  was  an  interior  town, 
far  removed  from  the  cities  of  the  coast, 
with  their  sailing  of  ships,  and  movement 
of  regiments,  and  the  officer  felt  himself 
little  better  than  an  exile.  He  was  well 
educated,  a  man  of  culture,  travel,  and 
position,  but  what  was  a  thousand  fold 
more  important  for  Phsedrus,  he  had  also 
been  a  follower  of  "The  Way,"  and  the 
possessor  of  letters  beyond  compare  for 
importance. 

The  letter  which  sent  the  blood  to  Phse- 
drus' cheek  and  set  his  heart  pounding, 
was  one  from  a  man  named  Luke  to  his 
friend  Theophilus.  This  man  Luke  had 
been  a  physician  and  a  slave.  In  those 
days  the  patrician,  with  his  lands,  his 
offices,  and  his  gold,  chose  no  profession 
save  the  law,  that  involved  personal 
labor.  The  task  of  searching  for  herbs 
and  roots,  this  tending  of  wounds  received 
[254] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

in  battle,  was  a  form  of  work,  and  there- 
fore the  master  had  his  slave-doctor, 
just  as  he  had  his  slave-farmer,  his 
slave-builder,  his  slave-baker  and  his 
house-slave. 

Now  this  Luke  had  written  a  private 
letter  to  his  friend  about  the  Master.  He 
had  not  written  as  an  historian,  but  simply 
as  one  friend  writes  to  another  friend ; 
he  probably  never  thought  of  a  far-off 
century  when  men  would  long  for  a  full 
story  of  a  day  in  Jerusalem  or  Nazareth, 
with  every  detail  given  and  no  word  or 
event  omitted.  But  fortunately,  this  ex- 
slave  and  physician  had  given  in  detail 
the  names  of  towns,  taverns,  ships,  sea- 
currents,  directions  of  the  wind,  with 
the  portraits  of  men,  and  made  faces 
to  stand  out  so  clearly  that,  once  seen, 
these  faces  can  never  be  forgotten.  With 
the  accuracy  of  a  scientist,  the  physician 
[255] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

had  fixed  the  time  of  the  Master's  birth 
by  a  paragraph  about  the  Roman  census. 

Just  as  Xenophon,  in  his  Memorabilia 
of  Socrates,  forgot  to  mention  how  his 
master  was  dressed,  and  how  he  looked 
when  he  took  the  cup  of  poison  in  his 
hand,  but  rather  touched  upon  a  few 
dramatic  events  like  his  trial,  and  his 
address  to  his  judges,  so  this  man  Luke 
presented  only  the  striking  events  in  the 
career  of  the  Teacher  who  had  captured 
his  imagination. 

When  autumn  came,  it  found  the  church 
in  the  Catacombs  in  possession  of  over 
fifty  sheets  of  Memorabilia,  each  sheet  ten 
by  twelve  inches,  and  every  page  made 
beautiful  by  the  loving  care  of  Phsedrus. 
He  had  marked  the  beginnings  of  his  para- 
graphs by  an  initial  in  colors  of  blue  and 
gold,  and  into  the  lettering  he  had  poured 

all  his  skill  as  an  artist. 
[256] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

By  this  time,  the  boy  had  begun  to 
realize  the  immensity  of  the  task  he  had 
set  himself. 

Nothing  was  more  certain  than  that  the 
reminiscences  of  Mark's  friends  contained 
the  story  of  a  few  days  among  the  many 
that  made  up  the  three  golden  years.  After 
that  visit  to  the  Temple,  when  the  Master 
was  twelve  years  of  age,  had  come  eighteen 
years  of  silence.  Nor  had  the  Master 
Himself  left  a  single  written  page.  His 
followers,  who  knew  Him  face  to  face,  had 
soon  been  mobbed  out  of  life.  Because 
they  daily  expected  His  return,  they  had 
told  His  story,  but  it  had  died  upon  the 
waves  of  the  vibrating  air. 

After  the  Master's  piteous  tragedy  on 
the  little  hill  beyond  Pilate's  palace,  per- 
secution had  fallen  upon  the  little  band 
of  huddled  sheep.  Soon  the  followers 
scattered,  even  as  the  sparks  fly  under 
s  [257] 


THE  STORY  OF  PBLEDRUS 

the  stroke  of  the  hammer  on  hot  iron. 
Phaedrus  was  told  that  James  had  been 
thrown  from  a  window  in  Jerusalem; 
Simon  and  Jude  were  tortured  in  Persia ; 
Philip  was  hanged  in  Hieropolis ;  Andrew 
was  crucified  at  Patraca;  and  James  the 
Less,  in  Asia;  while  John  had  been  sent 
to  the  convent  isle  of  Patmos.  But 
surely  the  witnesses  must  have  left  behind 
records  of  their  Master.  The  one  need 
of  the  hour  was  for  some  one  to  start  for 
Damascus,  make  his  way  to  each  city  where 
an  apostle  had  been  martyred,  and  there 
search  out  the  secret  friends,  write  out 
their  every  recollection,  and  so  collect  the 
Memorabilia  of  Jesus. 

It  was  late  in  November  when  Phsedrus 
finished  his  second  copy,  but  the  news  of 
his  skill  and  his  treasure  had  spread,  and 
he  found  himself  flooded  with  requests  to 
continue  his  work  in  Rome.  He  found 
[258] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

himself  torn  between  two  emotions,  —  the 
desire  to  further  the  Master's  cause,  and 
the  wish  to  set  himself  right  with  Nicias 
and  old  Simonides.  But  as  the  days  fled, 
and  he  saw  the  joy  that  his  work  brought 
to  the  followers  in  the  Catacombs,  he 
began  to  realize  that  his  task  was  divinely 
appointed,  and  he  put  off  the  hour  of  his 
departure.  Another  winter  came  and  went 
again,  and  another  November  drew  near, 
and  he  awoke  one  day  to  hear  that  Her- 
mon,  his  old  master,  was  dead,  and  to 
find  that  almost  two  years  had  passed 
since  that  eventful  night  when  he  had  fled 
from  Ephesus.  In  retrospect  it  seemed 
only  a  few  weeks  since  his  landing  in 
Puteoli  and  his  arrival  in  Rome. 

What  men  he  had  met !    What  won- 
drous scenes  he  had  witnessed  !     To  his 
surprise,  Phsedrus  found  it  hard  to  tear 
himself  away  from  the  Catacombs,     ]He 
[259] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

had  ceased  to  think  of  these  chambers  as 
the  place  of  death ;  he  had  come  to  think 
rather  of  the  martyrs'  bodies  lying  in 
quiet  and  undisturbed  peace,  of  their 
spirits  in  paradise,  and  of  their  faith 
triumphant  in  the  city  that  massacred 
them. 

But  his  work  in  the  Catacombs  was 
done.  With  joy  and  pride,  he  looked  at 
the  Memorabilia  that  he  had  named  for 
Mark  and  at  the  copies  he  had  made  of 
the  letter  of  Paul  to  the  little  band  that 
met  in  the  chambers  of  the  dead.  These 
were  to  be  his  gifts  to  the  wheat  merchant 
in  Ephesus,  whose  rolls  he  had  stolen. 

It  was  on  the  last  night  of  the  Satur- 
nalia, just  two  years  from  the  night  of  the 
secret  meeting  in  Nicias'  house,  that  Pha3- 
drus  again  set  foot  in  Ephesus.  For  a  long 
time  the  boy  had  made  his  plans  and  timed 
his  arrival  so  as  to  be  present  at  Nicias' 
[260J 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

Christmas  midnight  meeting.  Once  more 
had  come  an  interval  of  quiet,  and  for  weeks 
there  had  been  no  sign  of  persecution  in 
Ephesus.  Because  it  was  holiday  time, 
the  streets  were  filled  with  men  and  boys, 
returning  from  the  games  and  feasts. 
Phsedrus  made  his  way  through  the  familiar 
thoroughfares  as  one  in  a  dream.  At  last 
he  found  himself  on  the  road  along  which 
the  Ten  Thousand  had  gone  to  conquer 
Persia. 

Again  he  felt  his  way  slowly  through  the 
dark  night,  again  he  arrived  at  Nicias'  gate, 
again  he  received  a  stranger's  welcome  at 
the  hands  of  the  merchant.  Once  more 
he  looked  upon  a  little  company  assembled 
at  a  secret  meeting. 

The   room   was   dimly   lighted  by  the 

smoking   lamps.    Phsedrus   took   care  to 

stand  so  that  his  face  was  in  the  shadow, 

and  he  had  full  opportunity  to  look  at  the 

[2611 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

faces  of  the  followers  as  they  came  in. 
His  search  was  instantly  rewarded  by  the 
entrance  of  old  Simonides.  The  boy  saw 
that  the  old  man  bore  himself  like  a  brother 
beloved  rather  than  as  a  slave  in  his 
master's  house. 

He  saw  the  hazel  eyes,  as  bright,  as 
keen  and  kindly  as  ever;  he  heard  once 
more  the  vibrant,  musical,  metallic  voice, 
"fit  for  loud  laughter,  and  piercing  wail, 
and  all  that  might  lie  between."  But  he 
perceived  that  the  great  shock  of  hair  had 
become  white;  and  he  realized  that  time, 
labor,  and  sorrow  had  wrought  havoc 
upon  the  old  man's  face.  Simonides  was 
like  a  tower,  but  the  foundations  were 
undermined,  and  at  any  moment  it  might 
fall. 

Not  until  the  room  was  silent  and  Phse- 
drus  saw  the  old  chest  brought  in,  did  he 
lift  his  hand  from  his  face.  Then  he  felt 
[262] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

that  he  could  not  let  the  meeting  go  on 
until  first  he  had  told  his  story. 

He  turned  and  asked  a  servant  to  hand 
Nicias  the  note  he  had  brought  from 
Rome.  Standing  under  the  bright  torch 
the  wheat  merchant  read  the  tiny  roll.  He 
looked  up  curiously,  sought  in  vain  for 
Phaedrus'  eyes,  and  addressed  the  company. 
"This  young  man  has  brought  a  message 
from  our  friends  in  Rome.  He  brings 
warm  commendations.  I  will  ask  him  to 
give  us  the  greeting  he  bears." 

PhaBdrus  felt  his  heart  beat  fast  as  he 
rose.  Looking  straight  toward  old  Simoni- 
des  he  began  to  speak. 

"I  have  come  all  the  way  from  Rome/' 
he  said,  "to  right  a  wrong  I  once  did  this 
company.  Two  years  ago  to-night  old 
Simonides  brought  me  here.  Your  meet- 
ing was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  knock- 
ing at  the  gate.  During  the  excitement  and 
[263J 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

alarm  I  stole  a  gold  cup,  two  silver  plates, 
a  cloak,  and  certain  priceless  rolls.  All 
these  treasures  I  have  brought  back.  To 
explain  my  theft  and  my  restitution,  I 
ask  you  to  hear  my  story. 

"My  father  was  the  merchant  Phse- 
dron,  of  Mitylene.  He  was  a  pros- 
perous man,  and  had  lands  and  ships 
and  agents  in  many  cities.  He  was  the 
rich  man  of  his  province.  But  Hermon 
was  jealous  of  my  father;  he  brought 
charges  before  the  Emperor,  and  soon  my 
father  died  at  Rome,  in  prison.  Then  all 
his  property  was  confiscated,  and  when  his 
slaves  were  sold,  my  own  name  headed 
the  list.  I  was  bought  by  Hermon,  the 
governor,  and  placed  in  charge  of  his 
library. 

"In  Hermon's  house  I  came  under  the 
influence  of  old  Simonides,  whom  now 
again  I  see  here.  Among  all  the  slaves 
[264] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

in  the  governor's  house,  Simonides,  alone, 
was  trusted.  On  that  festive  night,  two 
years  ago,  Simonides  brought  me  here. 

"You  will  remember  that  just  after 
this  old  chest  had  been  brought  in,  after 
the  cups  had  been  filled  with  wine,  and 
the  bread  placed  upon  the  silver  plate,  a 
servant  came  to  say  there  was  a  soldier 
at  the  gate.  That  seemed  my  opportu- 
nity. For  weeks  I  had  been  meditating 
flight.  I  hated  my  master  with  a  deadly 
hatred.  Every  day  seemed  blacker  than 
the  day  before.  I  had  even  thought  of 
killing  Hermon,  who  had  wTrought  me  so 
great  injury,  and  I  had  also  thought  of 
killing  myself.  But  in  that  hour,  when 
all  went  hurriedly  into  the  garden,  leav- 
ing this  room  empty,  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  this  gold  cup,  the  parch- 
ments and  the  silver  plates.  Tempted,  in 
a  weak  moment  I  became  a  thief.  The 
[265] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

next  morning  I  tried  to  escape  on  the 
boat  that  was  sailing  for  Rome. 

"At  the  wharf,  in  my  peril,  I  remem- 
bered Simonides'  watchword,  'The  Way.' 
So  I  told  the  agent  that  I  was  one  of  the 
followers  of  'The  Way.'  Little  did  he 
suspect  that  I  was  the  thief  who  had 
robbed  this  chest  of  its  treasures. 

"In  his  pity,  this  man  took  me  aboard 
the  ship,  and  gave  me  into  the  hands  of 
the  captain,  saying  that  as  a  follower  of 
'The  Way'  I  was  in  peril.  Then  came 
old  Simonides  to  warn  me  that  Hermon 
was  sending  servants  to  have  the  ship 
searched.  As  the  captain  was  on  the 
wharf,  Simonides  told  him  of  my  peril. 
The  captain  put  me  in  a  farmer's  boat 
that  was  to  be  towed  down  to  the  Island 
of  Samos,  and  thus  I  was  saved. 

"  In  Puteoli  I  read  the  rolls  I  had  stolen. 

"They  'found  me.' 

[266] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

"The  rolls  had  power  to  guard  them- 
selves. They  built  walls  for  their  own 
protection. 

"While  reading  them,  I  saw  the  heavens 
opened.  Before  that,  I  had  cared  little 
for  my  education,  or  my  gift  as  an  artist, 
but  in  the  hour  when  I  read  the  stolen 
rolls,  I  knew  what  my  life-work  was  to  be. 

"  Now  I  have  brought  back  to  Nicias 
the  gold  cup,  the  silver  plates,  and  the  rolls 
with  the  story  of  the  Master's  life.  A 
wrong,  once  done,  cannot,  perhaps,  be 
righted ;  and  the  wrong  I  did  Nicias  was 
a  great  one.  How  great  it  was,  I  did  not 
understand  until  I  read  the  Master's 
words.  But  in  that  hour  I  repented 
bitterly,  and  since  that  hour,  I  have 
striven  to  show  my  repentance  by  true 
service. 

"Here,  therefore,  are  the  rolls  I  stole; 
here  also  is  a  new  letter  from  Paul, 
[267] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

written  to  the  followers  in  Rome;  here 
are  the  reminiscences  of  many  men,  sol- 
diers, peasants,  merchants,  and  travellers, 
who,  visiting  in  Rome,  told  me  what  their 
own  eyes  had  seen,  and  what  their  own 
ears  had  heard  of  our  great  teacher. 

"And  here  am  I,  —  to  ask  you  to  set 
me  apart  to  the  task  of  searching  the 
world  for  the  records  of  the  Master's  story, 
that  I  may  bring  back  to  Nicias'  house, 
before  I  die,  a  full  record  of  the  life,  the 
teachings,  and  the  death  of  the  Master 
and  all  who  were  transformed  by  Him." 

Nicias  sat  as  in  a  spell,  with  transfigured 
face.  Beside  him  sat  old  Simonides,  with 
eyes  that  looked  upon  the  boy  through  a 
mist  of  tears. 

The  whole  room  was  glorified. 

Simonides  was  the  first  to  greet  Phsedrus, 
whispering  broken  words  of  welcome. 
Then,  in  silence,  Nicias  grasped  PhaBdrus' 
[268] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

hands.  Afterwards,  when  all  had  re- 
covered themselves,  they  looked  upon  the 
pages  Phaedrus  spread  out. 

The  sheets  were  beautiful  with  a 
scholar's  patient  skill,  and  an  artist's 
loving  touch.  They  were  more  beautiful 
with  the  words  of  life.  One  hour  passed, 
another  hour,  and  still  a  third ;  and  then 
Nicias,  with  the  older  men,  stood  apart  in 
low  converse  with  Phsedrus.  The  youth 
was  to  have  his  wish  fulfilled. 

Just  before  the  dawn  of  Christmas 
morn,  Nicias  spread  a  white  cloth  upon 
the  table.  Upon  this,  he  put  the  gold  cup, 
the  silver  plates,  and  spread  out  the  rolls 
of  manuscript  that  had  come  home  at 
last. 

The  boy  Phffidrus  fell  down  upon  his 
knees. 

The  older  disciples  stood  in  a  circle 
round  about  him.  Then  the  wheat  mer- 
[269] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

chant  Nicias  put  his  hands  on  Phsedrus' 
head,  and  said  :  — 

"  Phsedrus,  believer  in  Jesus  !  I  dedicate 
thee  to  the  Memorabilia  of  the  Master  ! 

"  I  dedicate  thee  to  days  of  toil,  to  nights 
of  sleeplessness  ! 

"I  dedicate  thee  to  hunger  and  cold,  to 
rags  and  nakedness ! 

"I  set  thee  apart  for  pain  and  martyr- 
dom !  To  the  end,  that  when  the  apostles' 
voices  are  stilled  in  death,  the  Master's 
voice,  through  thy  rolls,  may  live  on 
and  live  forever  ! " 

Long  the  old  merchant  stood  there. 
He  lifted  not  his  hands  from  Phadrus' 
head ;  his  lips  were  moving,  but  no  voice 
was  heard.  In  that  moment  men's  eyes 
were  opened,  and  they  saw  things  invisible, 
not  lawful  to  be  told. 

Then,  as  dawn  drew  near,  one  by  one, 
the  followers  went  out,  each  man  unto 
[270] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

his  own  house.  When  the  sun  stood  upon 
the  horizon,  Phsedrus  and  old  Simonides 
stood  at  the  western  gate  of  Ephesus. 

Now,  indeed,  the  great  task  was  begun. 

Then  began  certain  wonder  deeds.  The 
work  Phsedrus  proposed  demanded  a  heart 
of  brass,  a  brain  of  steel,  the  strength  of 
a  young  god. 

No  man  ever  knew  at  what  expense  of 
pain  and  peril  Phsedrus  paid  for  the  treas- 
ure-trove assembled  in  the  Memorabilia 
of  the  Master.  Nothing  is  so  wonderful 
as  heroism.  During  those  years,  Ph^drus 
joined  the  noble  company  of  martyrs 
who  wandered  about  in  sheepskins  and 
goatskins,  with  trials  of  cruel  mockings 
and  scourgings,  yea,  of  bonds  and  im- 
prisonment. Following  along  the  track- 
way of  Paul,  and  of  Luke,  the  Beloved 
Physician,  following  after  Mark  and  the 
best-loved  disciple,  John,  he  came  to  many 
[2711 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

forms  of  anguish ;  he  wore  rags,  he  ate 
crusts,  he  slept  in  dens  and  caves  of  the 
earth ;  he  shivered  in  the  forest ;  he 
burned  in  the  desert ;  he  was  mobbed  in 
the  city  and  robbed  on  a  lonely  country 
road ;  he  was  destitute,  tormented,  and 
afflicted,  but  never  once  did  he  flinch  and 
turn  back,  and  always  his  treasure  in- 
creased. 

He  sailed  first  to  Antioch,  and  went 
thence  to  Nazareth,  where  he  arrived  one 
day  in  the  early  spring.  It  was  his  ambi- 
tion to  explore  the  home  country  of  Galilee, 
where  all  reminiscences  tasted  of  the  home 
soil,  and  where  he  hoped  to  bring  together 
the  full  story  of  the  recollections  of  the 
Hebrew  peasants  and  fishermen.  Wherever 
he  went,  he  began  to  find  the  influence  of  a 
certain  tax-gatherer,  whose  duties  had  lent 
him  skill  in  writing.  This  tax-gatherer, 
a  man  named  Matthew,  had  purchased 
[272] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

from  the  Roman  Government  the  right  to 
farm  out  the  taxes,  and  grind  the  people 
into  dust.  In  those  days  there  were  three 
classes  whom  all  men  hated  and  despised, 
—  the  thief,  the  murderer,  the  publican. 
And  this  Matthew  was  a  publican,  —  hard, 
cruel,  unyielding,  —  a  man  of  the  people 
who  lived  at  the  expense  of  the  people. 
But  in  some  unaccountable  way  this  cold 
personality  had  been  transformed  by  the 
warmth  of  sympathy  in  Christ's  teachings ; 
this  man  had  decided,  apparently,  that 
much  of  the  hardness  and  bitterness  of  the 
people  was  due  to  his  own  hardness  toward 
them ;  and  in  his  remorse  he  had  deter- 
mined to  do  what  he  could  to  help  those 
whom  he  had  injured.  And  so  he  had 
begun  to  gather  together  the  Master's 
Beatitudes  for  the  poor.  He  knew  the 
poor  like  a  book;  he  could  read  every 
page  in  the  life  of  the  peasant  and  fisher- 
T  [273] 


THE  STORY  OF  PBLEDRUS 

man;  and  for  the  most  part,  he  had 
written  in  the  poor  man's  tongue,  the 
Hebrew. 

Phsedrus  found  a  score  of  men,  living  in 
villages  as  widely  separated  as  Nazareth 
and  Jerusalem,  each  of  whom  had  a  little 
piece  of  papyrus  holding  some  parable  or 
proverb  preserved  by  this  publican.  The 
story  of  the  treasure  hidden  in  the  field ; 
the  story  of  the  wheat  and  the  tares ;  the 
story  of  the  laborers  waiting  to  be  hired ; 
the  story  of  the  selfish  men  who  wore  the 
mask  of  piety,  and  robbed  the  poor  of 
their  silver,  —  each  was  copied  on  its  own 
little  square  of  papyrus. 

Up  and  down  the  land,  from  Bethlehem 
to  Jericho,  from  Hebron  in  the  south,  to 
the  Lake  of  Galilee  in  the  north,  went 
the  young  Greek.  He  talked  with  peasants 
shepherds,  artisans,  traders,  priests,  sheiks, 
—  everywhere  gleaning  eagerly,  like  a 
[274] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

harvester  who  cannot  bear  to  lose  a  single 
handful  of  the  golden  grain.  At  last  he 
brought  all  the  scraps  of  parchment 
together,  and  named  his  book  for  that 
Hebrew  tax-gatherer,  Matthew.  The  por- 
trait of  the  Master  which  this  Hebrew 
material  presented  was  very  different  from 
that  brilliant  portrait  that  Phsedrus  had 
made  out  of  the  recollections  of  men  who 
had  known  Mark,  the  soldier.  In  contrast, 
too,  his  Memorabilia  of  Luke  was  the  por- 
trait by  a  Gentile  artist,  and  differed  from 
that  of  the  Hebrew  and  Roman  as  a  picture 
by  Rembrandt  differs  from  one  by  the 
Spaniard  Velasquez. 

That  winter  Phsedrus  retraced  the  steps 
of  Paul  on  his  journey  into  the  cities  north 
of  Damascus.  In  almost  every  town  he 
found  a  few  who  understood  his  signals, 
and  after  proving  him,  confessed  that  they 

were    secret    followers    of    "The    Way." 
[275] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

When  night  fell,  he  would  meet  a  little 
company,  now  in  the  house  of  some  friend, 
now  in  some  distant  garden,  where  in  low 
tones  they  would  talk  together  of  the 
Master's  wondrous  works  and  deeds,  of 
the  new  faith  that  had  flooded  their 
hearts  with  hope,  —  a  faith  that  was  now 
travelling,  like  a  beautiful  summer,  from 
city  to  city,  from  continent  to  continent. 

From  Damascus,  Phsedrus  made  his  way 
to  the  Greek  towns  on  the  banks  of  the 
Lake  of  Galilee.  Thence  he  took  the  old 
road  that  led  westward  to  the  seaport, 
whence  ships  sailed  to  Rome.  Along  that 
road,  during  the  life  of  the  Master,  had 
passed  the  weekly  messenger  from  the 
Emperor's  palace  to  the  governor,  Pilate. 
In  that  little  city  of  Nazareth  had  dwelt 
the  Roman  legion,  with  its  parasites,  its 
outcasts,  its  gamblers,  who  spread  the 
proverb,  "Can  any  good  thing  come  out 
[276] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

of  Nazareth  ?  "  There  Phaedrus  marvelled 
upon  the  miracle  of  a  lily  secreting  purity 
and  whiteness  though  rooted  in  bog  and 
slime. 

A  day's  journey  to  the  south,  Phaedrus 
met  a  group  of  shepherds.  Day  by  day 
they  led  their  flocks  into  the  hills,  and 
night  after  night  they  returned  to  water 
their  sheep  at  an  old  well,  digged  in  the 
limestone.  They  were  silent  men,  timid 
and  suspicious,  but  little  by  little,  Phsedrus 
won  their  confidence.  At  last,  one  night, 
under  the  stars  that  shone  with  warm  and 
mellow  radiance,  an  old  shepherd  opened 
up  his  heart.  Then  they  brought  forth 
their  treasure.  It  was  a  tiny  roll  wrapped 
in  silk  and  thrust  in  a  leather  case.  The 
roll  held  the  story  of  a  star  that  guided 
three  wise  men  from  the  East  to  the  little 
town  of  Bethlehem.  It  told  also  of  the 
sudden  appearance  in  the  air  of  the 
[277] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^DRUS 

heavenly  host,  singing  of  peace  on  earth 
and  good-will  toward  men.  For  weeks 
Phaedrus  could  scarcely  sleep  for  joy  over 
his  copy  of  the  story  of  the  first  Christmas 
night. 

But  the  Carpenter's  guild  in  Capernaum 
held  a  still  richer  treasure.  These  artisans 
gloried  in  the  fact  that  the  Master  had 
belonged  to  their  guild ;  that  He,  too,  had 
made  the  bow  and  the  ox  yoke,  that  He 
had  fitted  doors  and  made  beautiful  the 
windows  of  poor  men's  houses.  One  of 
these  workmen  had  a  tablet  hung  above 
his  carpenter's  bench.  Too  poor  to  buy  a 
goatskin,  he  had  smoothed  a  board  and 
carved  its  edges.  Unable  to  write,  a 
stranger  whom  he  had  entertained  had 
written  for  him  what  he  called  "  The  Lord's 
Prayer.'7  At  the  top  of  the  board,  Phse- 
drus  found  a  promise  carved,  "Ask  and  ye 
shall  receive." 

[278] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

Slowly,  Phsedrus  went  from  village  to 
village,  and  hamlet  to  hamlet.  The  long 
happy  winter  passed,  summer  came  again, 
but  his  treasures  were  more  and  more. 
Most  of  the  five  hundred  had  gone,  but 
here  and  there  a  fisherman,  an  artisan,  an 
old  peasant  remained.  Some  of  them  were 
unable  to  read  or  write.  They  were  rough 
without,  but  their  memory  within  held 
great  riches,  just  as  the  rough  geode, 
when  broken  open,  holds  a  thousand 
flashing  crystals. 

After  his  third  trip  into  the  hills  of 
Galilee,  Phsedrus  turned  his  steps  toward 
Alexandria.  Then  it  was  that  he  learned 
that  there  was  a  reward  out  for  a  certain 
young  Greek  who  was  reproducing  the 
"writings"  that  set  forth  the  story  of  the 
new  superstition.  The  Romans  were  begin- 
ning to  call  it  a  "book  religion,"  and  to  say 
that  there  was  more  danger  in  "the  writ- 
[279J 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

ings"  than  in  the  words  of  any  teacher. 
From  Rome  came  the  news  that  one  had 
been  led  away  by  the  lust  of  gold,  and  had 
betrayed  the  secret  hiding-place,  where  the 
leaders  had  stored  the  Memorabilia  that 
Phsedrus  had  brought  together  under  the 
name  of  Mark.  About  this  time  these 
traitors  to  "the  writings"  began  to  be  held 
in  special  fear  as  "traditores"  who  crucified 
the  Master  afresh. 

Phsedrus  was  in  a  village  far  up  in  the  hill 
country,  when  the  warning  overtook  him. 
He  was  not  afraid  for  himself,  but  he 
feared  for  his  beloved  parchments.  What 
if  a  poisoned  arrow  should  strike  him 
down !  A  score  of  times  he  had  been 
delivered  as  if  by  a  miracle  out  of  the 
hands  of  enemies.  But  what  if  he  should 
be  captured  and  his  treasure  all  destroyed  ? 
What  if  his  papyri  should  be  found  and 
burned  by  the  Roman  soldiers  ?  What 
[280] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

about  the  generations  to  live  in  after 
years,  —  men  who  would  go  through  life 
laughing  and  weeping  and  working  and 
sinning,  to  suffer  and  love  and  die  !  Per- 
haps they,  too,  would  be  tormented  by 
Cicero's  question,  "Is  there  a  meeting 
place  for  the  dead?" 

If  he  could  only  preserve  for  them  this 
story  of  the  Master  and  His  promise, 
then  every  dying  statesman,  every  sweet 
mother,  every  little  child  might  know 
that  there  is  a  meeting  place  in  the  Other 
Room. 

And  so  Phsedrus  planned  one  supreme 
achievement.  Now  that  a  price  was  set 
upon  his  head,  torture  and  death  were 
certain.  What  he  had  to  do  must  be 
done  quickly.  The  Memorabilia  of  the 
Master  must  be  placed  beyond  all  possi- 
bility of  destruction. 

In  Egypt,  years  before,  Phsedrus  had 
[281] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

witnessed  the  opening  of  a  tomb  that  had 
been  sealed  for  a  thousand  years.  He 
had  seen,  with  amazement,  the  colors  of 
red  and  blue  still  fresh  and  undimmed, 
and  now  he  determined  to  go  into  the 
desert  of  the  Nile,  and  there  make  one 
more  copy  of  his  treasured  rolls.  He  spent 
days  in  the  selection  of  his  papyrus,  in  the 
preparation  of  his  colors ;  then  he  started 
for  the  desert  and  his  great  task.  There, 
where  the  air  is  dry,  and  rain  seldom  falls, 
he  went  to  live  with  the  shepherds.  From 
the  heights  where  he  worked,  he  could 
see,  in  the  distance,  the  valley  of  the  great 
river,  and  there,  six  months  later,  he  sealed 
in  a  great  stone  jar  more  than  sixty  sheets; 
all  of  papyrus,  holding  the  story  of  the 
Master's  life,  His  teachings,  His  cross,  and 
His  victory  over  death.  Soon  or  late,  the 
time  would  come  when  these  treasures 
would  be  found.  He  knew  that  they 
[282] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

would  last  two  thousand  years  as  easily  as 
two  years. 

There  remained  only  one  thing  more  to 
do.  He  must  send  one  of  the  copies  of 
his  new  rolls  back  to  Nicias,  for  the 
followers  who  lived  in  Ephesus.  A  few 
months  before;  his  task  would  have  been 
easy ;  now  it  was  all  but  impossible  of  ac- 
complishment. Persecution  had  broken 
out  again;  his  work  was  known;  a  price 
was  upon  his  head.  Roman  spies  were 
everywhere ;  in  Egypt,  in  Palestine,  in  all 
the  islands  between  the  Greek  coast  and 
Ephesus.  To  return  to  the  great  city 
would  be  to  court  death,  torture,  and  the 
destruction  of  his  rolls.  Yet  he  knew  the 
risk  must  be  run.  One  man  there  was,  — 
a  Greek  whom  he  had  known  in  Alexan- 
dria, —  and  this  follower  could  be  trusted 
to  carry  the  treasure  to  Nicias'  house. 

To  Alexandria  Phsedrus  knew  he  must 
[283] 


THE  STORY  OF  PKEDRUS 

go  himself.  And  go  he  did,  in  the  guise 
of  a  wandering  beggar,  the  precious  rolls 
in  a  bundle  upon  his  back,  his  features 
stained,  his  hair  long  and  unkempt.  Night 
after  night  he  plodded  on  under  the 
friendly  stars;  day  after  day  he  lay 
hidden  in  the  straw  in  some  rude  stable, 
or  upon  the  hard  ground  with  his  bundle 
for  a  pillow.  The  country  he  traversed 
was  grimly  desolate,  the  villages  few  and 
scattered ;  great  stretches  lay  between, 
given  up  to  drought  and  dust,  colorless, 
sombre,  oppressive.  By  day,  living  things 
wilted  under  the  brazen  sun;  at  night 
a  cold  wind  sprang  up  to  chill  the  weary 
youth  as  he  left  his  hiding  place  to  con- 
tinue his  march. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  dry  season 

when  he  finally  drew  near  the  mouth  of 

the  Nile  and  Alexandria.    He  came  out 

in  the  morning  upon  a  little  sloping  knoll, 

[284] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

and  saw,  with  a  thrill  of  delight  and 
astonishment,  the  white  porches  of  the 
city  gleaming  in  the  sun  before  him.  His 
task  was  all  but  finished.  With  a  sigh  of 
content  he  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the 
gilded  temple  roofs,  the  tall  columns  of 
the  old  basilica,  the  broken  lines  of  shops 
and  houses.  A  few  hours  more,  and  the 
treasure  would  rest  in  safe  hands. 

Out  of  the  white  gate  came  suddenly  a 
glittering  column  of  armed  men.  Phse- 
drus  caught  his  breath  as  he  recognized  the 
shining  eagles  of  a  Roman  cohort.  In- 
stinctively he  stepped  back  from  the  road, 
and  turning,  made  his  way  through  a  small 
grove,  down  the  gently  sloping  hillside. 
Not  till  he  was  well  away  from  the  high- 
way, and  completely  hidden  by  the  thick 
shrubbery,  did  he  stop  and  put  down  his 
bundle.  Then,  with  matter-of-fact  com- 
posure, he  lay  down  to  rest. 
[285] 


THE  STORY  OF  PELEDRUS 

He  had  walked  all  night;  his  limbs 
were  tired  and  sore ;  but  the  vision  of  the 
city,  the  sudden  glimpse  of  the  Imperial 
colors,  the  occasional  faint  sounds  which 
drifted  to  him,  even  now,  from  the  distant 
walls,  set  his  blood  rioting,  and  banished 
all  thought  of  sleep.  Lying  in  the  grass, 
as  he  had  lain  so  many  times  during  the 
long  weeks  just  past,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  retraced,  as  in  the  shifting  glass  of  a 
kaleidoscope,  the  strange  and  varied  course 
of  his  life.  Odd  snatches  of  conversation, 
faces  seen  but  once  and  for  a  moment, 
the  voices  of  men  and  women  long  since 
dead,  —  a  flood  of  bitter,  poignant  remi- 
niscence swept  over  the  boy.  The  garden 
where  he  had  played  as  a  child,  his  mother's 
death,  those  bitter  months  in  Hermon's 
house  at  Ephesus,  —  old  Simonides,  Nicias, 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  night  of  his 
escape,  the  Sicilian,  Rome,  —  face  after 
[286] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

face;  vision  after  vision,  they  drifted  by 
before  his  eyes.  What  a  broken,  diffused 
existence  it  had  been  !  He  felt  suddenly 
very  old.  In  the  distance,  the  regular 
beat  of  the  marching  troops  began  to  be 
audible  on  the  highway.  PhaBdrus  lay 
still,  listening.  Gradually  he  began  to 
catch  the  jangle  of  harness ;  voices  carried 
above  the  dull  thud  of  feet ;  the  line  burst 
suddenly  into  a  marching  song.  A  lump 
rose  in  the  boy's  throat.  These  men  had 
at  least  the  companionship  of  their  own 
kind.  He  had  forgone  even  that ! 

A  long  time  after  the  sounds  had  died 
away,  Phadrus  lay  motionless;  then  he 
arose  and  took  up  the  treasured  bundle. 
For  the  city  of  Alexandria,  day  had 
scarcely  begun ;  for  Phaedrus  it  would  not 
end  until  he  had  fulfilled  his  mission. 

He  found  the  city  full  of  life  and  move- 
ment, —  the  streets  alive  with  bustle  and 
[287] 


THE  STORY  OF  PHZEDRUS 

excitement.  Boys  elbowing  their  way 
between  stolid  family  groups;  children, 
scurrying  in  and  out  like  rabbits ;  mothers, 
shrieking  warnings  to  their  offspring ; 
hawkers  of  fruit  and  wine,  booksellers, 
fish-dealers,  barbers,  jewellers,  bird-fanciers 
—  Phsedrus  had  never  seen  such  an  ill- 
assorted  mob  of  people  as  seemed  to  fill 
the  squares  and  market-places  of  Alex- 
andria. Shouts,  laughter,  the  noise  of 
disputing,  arose  on  every  side.  Money- 
changers sat  at  little  tables,  chattering 
raucously  at  their  work;  from  the  flat 
roofs  of  the  houses,  doves  whirred  and 
fluttered  down  to  the  stone-paved  streets ; 
out  of  open  doorways  drifted  a  fragrant 
odor  of  cooking,  perfuming  the  morning 
air.  In  the  largest  square  of  the  city  a 
troupe  of  gypsies  were  performing  circus 
tricks  before  an  eager,  gesticulating  crowd ; 
dark-eyed  gypsy  children  moved  about 
[288] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

the  edge  of  the  circle,  beseeching  coins  of 
the  multitude;  on  a  rug  spread  in  the 
centre;  a  black-haired  gypsy  wife  and 
mother  stood  straining  under  the  weight 
of  four  muscular  sons,  who  twined  them- 
selves in  varying  postures  above  her 
head. 

Phsedrus  eyed  the  throng  in  amazement. 
The  town  seemed  on  a  holiday.  Plainly, 
some  event  of  importance  was  taking 
place,  to  attract  such  an  assembly  of  tl\e 
pleasure-loving  and  the  idle. 

The  puzzle  was  solved  for  him  by  a 
voice  which  he  overheard  behind  him. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  Hippodrome,  Gallio. 
The  legate  is  to  be  there  within  the  hour." 

Phsedrus  understood,  in  an  instant,  the 
meaning  of  the  festivity.  The  Roman 
legate  in  Alexandria  !  No  wonder  there 
was  a  holiday  ! 

He  made  his  way  down  a  narrow  street 
u  [289] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

to  the  house  of  the  man  he  sought.  It 
was  in  a  lane,  which  turned  off  from  an 
unfrequented  side  street,  and  Phsedrus 
found  the  neighborhood  apparently  de- 
serted. He  knocked  upon  the  door,  and 
waited  in  vain  for  a  reply.  Knocked 
again,  and  waited  again,  —  wondering, 
this  time,  with  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasi- 
ness, whether  the  man  could  have  moved 
away.  The  noise  of  his  knocking  echoed 
loudly  in  the  narrows  of  the  lane;  it 
seemed  impossible  that  the  house  could 
be  occupied,  and  the  sound  not  heard. 
Suddenly,  as  he  was  about  to  turn  away,  a 
woman  appeared  around  a  corner  of  the 
lane.  Phsedrus  made  the  customary 
obeisance  of  the  professional  beggar. 

"I  am  looking,"  he  said,  "for  the  man 
who  was  formerly  the  keeper  of  the  south- 
ern gate.  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can 
find  him?" 

[290] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

The  woman  nodded. 

"At  the  Hippodrome,"  she  said  curtly. 
"He  is  there  to  help  with  the  crowd. 
Look  for  him  at  the  entrance  next  to  the 
statue  of  the  Emperor."  And  with  a 
glance  of  contempt  at  his  ragged  clothes, 
she  passed  on  down  the  street. 

Phsedrus  hurried  back  toward  the  gate 
of  the  city.  The  Hippodrome  he  had 
seen  from  afar,  towering  just  outside  the 
walls.  Presently  he  fell  in  with  the  mul- 
titude, all  moving,  like  himself,  toward  the 
circus. 

He  found  the  space  around  the  great 
structure  banked  solidly  with  people. 
Members  of  the  Imperial  cavalry  rode 
here  and  there,  endeavoring  to  maintain  a 
semblance  of  order  among  the  turbulent, 
good-natured  throng.  Phsedrus  found  the 
statue  of  the  Emperor,  and  sought  the 
entrance  nearest  it.  At  the  top  of  the 
[291] 


THE  STORY  OF   PILEDRUS 

steps,  on  the  level  of  the  first  tier  of  seats, 
he  found  the  Greek,  whose  courage  could 
be  trusted  until  death  itself. 

Phsedrus  elbowed  his  way  forward,  and 
touched  his  old  friend  on  the  arm.  The 
man  eyed  him,  but  restrained  all  sign  of 
recognition. 

"Make  way!"  he  cried  roughly, 
"Stand  aside,  will  you  !  Make  way  for 
those  who  have  seats  !"  He  turned,  to 
thrust  a  muscular  arm  in  front  of  a  callow 
youth  who  was  trying  to  brush  past  him. 
"Not  so  fast,  young  man  !  Not  so  fast !" 

Phaedrus  gripped  the  official's  wrist, 
and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  For 
an  instant,  the  color  left  the  man's  face. 
Then  he  recovered  himself. 

"Make  way,  there  !"  he  went  on  loudly. 

"Keep  the  passage  clear!"     Then,  in  a 

whisper,  "Stand  near  me  till  the  crowd  is 

seated."    And  raising  his  voice  once  more, 

[292] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

he   continued   to   address   the   throng   in 
accents  of  official  authority. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  crush  began 
to  grow  less,  and  a  much  longer  time  before 
the  entrance  way  was  deserted.  Then 
Phaedrus  approached  the  man,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  intense  relief. 

"You  are  the  agent  for  Nicias,"  he 
said  quietly.  "In  this  bundle,  are  the 
Memorabilia  of  the  Master.  They  are  to 
go  to  Nicias  for  safe-keeping.  These  new 
rolls  are  not  safe  with  me.  Already  a 
price  has  been  set  on  my  head." 

The  man  betrayed  no  sign  of  interest  or 
emotion. 

"Drop  them  here  beside  me/'  he  an- 
swered. "Go  in  and  find  a  seat.  We 
may  be  watched.  There  are  spies  every- 
where." And  as  Phsedrus  moved  away, 
he  added  in  a  low  voice,  "The  rolls 
shall  leave  Alexandria  to-night." 
[293] 


THE  STORY  OF  PKEDRUS 

For  the  first  time  in  months,  Phsedrus 
walked  away  empty  handed.  He  felt  lost 
without  the  bundle,  yet  at  the  same  time 
strangely  free  and  happy.  Mechanically, 
he  found  his  way  to  a  place  in  the  first 
tier  of  seats.  Out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  he  tried  to  see  the  official  he  had  just 
left.  He  found  he  could  not,  and  gradu- 
ally, as  the  minutes  passed,  and  he  re- 
covered his  composure,  he  found  himself 
focussing  his  attention  upon  the  scene 
before  him. 

Out  upon  the  blazing  sands  of  the 
arena,  a  line  of  slaves  were  being  led, 
manacled  and  naked,  by  armed  guards. 
From  the  pits  at  one  side,  the  dull  roar 
of  a  lion  rose  suddenly,  above  the  buzz 
of  talk  and  laughter  in  the  galleries. 
Phsedrus  caught  his  breath.  He  had 
often  heard  of  these  sports,  but  he  had 
never  seen  them.  He  looked  down  on  the 
[294] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

group  of  thin,  wasted  figures,  now  being 
released  by  the  soldiers,  and  a  shudder 
went  over  him. 

"Ah!     There's  the  legate!" 

At  the  words,  Phsedrus  looked  up,  and 
saw  the  Roman  official,  entering  the  Im- 
perial box,  directly  opposite  him.  The 
audience  was  on  its  feet;  the  great  en- 
closure echoing  a  greeting.  Phsedrus  had 
seen  the  man  in  Rome,  —  a  fat,  red-faced 
fellow,  coarse  of  mind,  and  heavy  of 
feature.  A  man  with  the  marks  of  de- 
generacy upon  him. 

A  woman  spoke  behind  Phsedrus. 

"Oh,  they're  giving  them  weapons  !" 

Phsedrus'  eyes  went  back  to  the  arena. 
The  woman  was  right.  To  complete  the 
farce,  the  poor  wretches  were  being  sup- 
plied with  short  swords  ! 

Suddenly,  as  he  watched,  Phsedrus' 
heart  seemed  to  stop  beating.  One  of 
[295] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  slaves,  the  one  at  the  head  of  the  line, 
was  a  cripple.  Something  about  him 
struck  Phaedrus  as  familiar.  He  looked 
again,  and  recognized  the  crippled  slave 
whom  he  had  met  at  the  Sicilian's  house  in 
Puteoli. 

A  trumpet  blew  from  somewhere  down 
in  the  pits.  One  of  the  barred  gates  began 
to  open.  The  hum  of  conversation  ceased. 
The  great  assembly  seemed  to  hold  its 
breath.  A  man  back  of  Phaedrus  cried 
"Sit  down  !"  But  Phaedrus  did  not  hear 
him. 

He  was  on  his  feet.  In  his  ears  was  the 
sound  of  another  voice,  —  a  voice  he  had 
heard  in  the  goldsmith's  at  Puteoli.  Down 
on  the  sands,  his  sword  held  like  a  shining 
cross  before  his  breast,  stood  that  brave 
crippled  slave.  In  the  sudden,  deathly 
silence,  he  was  speaking,  and  Phaedrus 
thrilled  to  the  music  in  the  tones  which 
[296] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

floated,  vibrant,  weird,  compelling,  over 
the  arena :  — 

"Behold,  I  send  you  forth  as  sheep 
among  wolves  !  .  .  .  He  that  loseth  his 
life  shall  save  it.  .  .  ." 

The  words  echoed  in  the  porches  of 
Phaedrus'  mind  like  the  clear  summons  of 
a  trumpet.  The  whole  world  seemed 
dumb,  —  save  that  crooked  figure,  calling 
to  him  from  the  sands.  The  voice  went 
on,  louder,  sweeter,  than  before. 

"Lo,  I  am  with  you  always,  even  unto 
the  end." 

As  though  in  a  dream,  Phsedrus  found 
himself  on  the  steps  leading  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  balcony.  A  soldier  shouted 
something  behind  him ;  a  babble  of 
hoarse  whispers  rose  about  him:  "Beg- 
gar! Madman!  Put  him  out!"  He 
heard  nothing.  He  went  down  the  steps, 
seeing  only  the  cripple  who  was  doing  a 
[297] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

brave  man's  work,  being  faithful  unto 
death.  For  a  single  moment  Phsedrus 
stood  with  his  hands  on  the  marble  railing  ; 
then  he  leaped  down  into  the  arena.  The 
cripple  turned  toward  Phsedrus.  Their 
eyes  met.  The  strange,  wonderful  voice 
began  to  chant  the  familiar  words :  — 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  Ye 
believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  Me.  I  go 
to  prepare  a  place  for  you." 

There  was  a  pause.  Out  of  the  open  pit 
leaped  a  thing  of  black  and  yellow.  The 
voice  of  the  crippled  slave  never  wavered  : 
"And  if  I  go  I  will  return  again,  .  .  . 
that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be  also." 

The  crowd  scarcely  saw  what  followed. 
The  gate  of  a  second  pit  clanged  open.  A 
dozen  yellow  shapes  bounded  into  the  light. 
The  youth  who  had  leaped  into  the  arena 
now  stood  between  the  wild  beasts  and  the 
cripple.  There  was  a  streak  of  color  across 
[298] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

the  sands.  Then  the  youth  went  down. 
A  choking  gasp  rose  from  the  multitude. 
The  voice  of  the  cripple  was  drowned  by 
a  woman's  scream. 

Up  in  the  balcony,  at  the  entrance  nearest 
the  statue  of  the  Emperor,  a  gate  keeper, 
taking  advantage  of  the  excitement,  hid  a 
bundle  under  his  cloak,  and  turning  fur- 
tively, sped  down  the  marble  steps  to  the 
street. 

$  $  4  $  & 

Another  December  came,  and  brought 
with  it  the  feasts  and  sports  of  the  Saturna- 
lia. But  Nicias  knew  that  Phsedrus  would 
not  be  at  this  secret  meeting.  In  the  old 
chest,  so  long  the  merchant's  treasure  box, 
lay  a  bundle,  delivered  to  him  months 
before  by  a  stranger  from  Alexandria. 
With  tears  Nicias  had  heard  the  man's 
story ;  he  knew  that  the  brave  boy  would 
come  no  more. 

[299] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Old  Simonides  was  too  weak,  now,  to 
carry  word  of  the  secret  meeting,  but  he 
was  no  longer  needed.  As  of  old,  the  little 
company  assembled  at  the  hour  of  mid- 
night. As  on  those  other  nights,  the  old 
chest  was  brought  in  by  two  of  Nicias' 
slaves,  and  opened  wide  before  the  gather- 
ing of  friends.  But  now,  while  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him  in  love  and  reverence,  the  old 
merchant  spread  out  new  treasure,  pages 
smooth  and  fair,  bright  with  glorious  colors, 
and  luminous  with  the  wondrous  story. 

Here  were  three  portraits  of  the  Master, 
each  by  a  skilled  artist ;  here  were  the 
completed  Memorabilia  of  the  Master, 
named  for  Luke,  the  Beloved  Physician 
and  written  in  Greek  for  men  of  culture ; 
here  were  the  Memorabilia  written  in 
Rome  and  named  for  the  soldier  Mark, 
but  now  given  in  the  order  of  the  fascinat- 
ing events !  Here  was  a  new  addition  to 
[300] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

the  biography  taken  from  the  lips  of 
Galileans,  who  had  known  Matthew,  —  a 
biography  for  peasants  and  poor  men ! 

Looking  first  upon  the  rolls,  and  then 
upon  the  little  company,  the  old  Greek 
merchant  began  to  speak. 

"We  are  here  to  celebrate  a  slave-boy 
at  whose  hands  we  have  received  a  treas- 
ure beyond  gold  and  gems.  Lest  all 
memory  of  the  Master  perish  with  the 
death  of  His  witnesses,  our  Phsedrus  gave 
himself  to  searching  out  for  future  ages 
the  Memorabilia  of  our  Master. 

"PhaBdrus  stood  in  every  city  to  which 
the  first  disciples  fled.  He  journeyed  from 
the  Tiber  to  the  Nile,  from  the  Nile  to  the 
Jordan,  from  the  Jordan  to  Ephesus.  He 
was  in  peril  in  the  city,  in  peril  in  the 
wilderness,  in  peril  on  the  sea ;  but  one 
thing  he  made  certain,  that  though  all  the 
followers  of  'The  Way'  were  martyred, 
[301] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

the  Master's  story  could  not  be  hurt  by 
death. 

"Now  the  singer  of  an  undying  song  is 
himself  dead.  He  hath  been  redeemed 
out  of  hunger  and  cold,  out  of  torture  and 
pain ;  he  hath  found  a  refuge  from  all  who 
strike,  and  all  who  pursue. 

"Bronzes  rust  and  statues  disappear; 
our  Parthenon  and  Temple  of  Diana  are 
of  a  day.  Athens  and  Ephesus  fade  like 
leaves.  One  thing  alone  abides  —  God's 
eternal  truth  put  in  beautiful  words. 
Here  and  now,  therefore,  we  celebrate 
Phaedrus,  who  hath  sent  out  the  music  of 
the  Master,  music  that  will  sound  on,  and 
sound  forever." 

Then  began  the  beautiful  ceremony  of 
the  Greek  for  their  noble  dead.  When 
Pericles  died,  the  patricians  of  Athens  put 
on  their  white  robes,  tied  a  violet  girdle 
about  the  waist,  and  each,  with  a  lamp  of 
[302] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

smoking  incense,  marched  slowly  past  the 
bier,  staying  for  one  moment  in  love  and 
reverence  above  the  face  of  their  hero. 
And  now  the  followers  of  "The  Way" 
began  their  commemoration  of  Phsedrus. 
Nicias  spread  out  the  beautiful  parchments 
on  the  table.  He  opened  the  Memorabilia 
of  Luke  to  the  story  of  the  lost  son,  and  on 
that  page  the  wheat  merchant  laid  the 
little  roll  that  Pha3drus  had  stolen  and 
beside  it  placed  the  two  gold  cups.  One 
by  one  the  little  company  marched  by, 
staying  their  steps  for  a  moment  to  stoop 
and  press  their  lips  upon  the  page  that 
held  the  story  of  their  Master.  Then  the 
followers  passed  out  into  the  night. 

But  each  man  knew  that  if  the  night 
was  light  about  his  feet,  it  was  because  he 
had  received  his  torch  from  the  hand  of 

the  slave-boy,  PhaBdrus. 

*  *  *  *  * 

[303] 


THE  STORY  OF  PH^EDRUS 

The  first  century  ended,  and  another 
century  was  ushered  in.  The  good  news 
began  to  make  its  way.  First  to  go 
over  to  the  new  faith  were  slaves  and 
gladiators.  The  peasants  in  the  field 
followed.  Then  the  soldiers  fell  into  line ; 
last  of  all  the  philosophers  joined  the 
Master's  triumphal  procession  up  the  hills 
of  time. 

Then  Constantino  deserted  the  gods  of 
Rome.  One  day  the  Emperor  startled 
his  people  by  announcing  the  new  faith 
as  the  religion  of  the  empire.  Phsedrus' 
Master  was  in  the  throne  of  the  Caesars. 

Another  century  arrived.  Julian  the 
Emperor  organized  one  last  desperate  as- 
sault upon  the  followers  of  "The  Way." 
The  brilliant  youth  failed.  Weary  of  his 
impotent  persecutions,  one  day  the  Em- 
peror fell,  leading  the  assault.  As  the 
arrow  was  drawn  out,  the  blood  gushed 
[304] 


THE  GREATEST  BOOK 

forth;  some  say  Julian  whispered:  "Thou 
Galilean  !  Thou  hast  conquered  !" 

Suddenly,  men  became  curious  and  eager. 
Everywhere,  they  began  to  ask  for  some 
one  who  could  tell  his  full  story.  One  day, 
a  traveller  in  Constantinople  said  that  in  a 
rich  man's  house  in  Ephesus  were  parch- 
ments that  held  the  full  story  of  the  Mas- 
ter. Good  news  cannot  be  hid.  The 
rumor  of  the  hidden  rolls  spread  like  the 
advancing  sun.  Wise  men  began  to  ask 
why  their  city  could  not  have  one  copy  of 
the  Master's  history.  Without  any  pre- 
arranged plan,  men  out  of  distant  towns 
started  for  Ephesus. 

One  morning  a  group  of  scholars  stood 
in  the  great  reception  room  of  the  house 
where  the  wheat  merchant  Nicias  had 
once  lived.  A  certain  wistfulness  was 
upon  all  faces,  and  a  great  expectancy 
filled  all  hearts.  Hard  by  stood  the 
x  [305] 


THE  STORY  OF  PILEDRUS 

Temple  of  Diana,  one  of  the  Seven  Wonders 
of  the  world,  but  no  man  remembered  that 
pile.  At  length  the  hour  long  waited  for 
came.  At  a  given  signal  the  scholars  rose, 
while  two  young  men  entered  the  room, 
carrying  an  old  chest.  Then,  hands  gentle 
and  reverent  lifted  Phsedrus'  rolls  from  the 
chest  —  rolls  that  held  the  story  of  One 
who  spake  as  never  man  spake,  whose 
music  was  world  music. 

Gone  the  house  of  Hermon,  the  gov- 
ernor !  Gone  Herod's  temple  in  Jerusalem ! 
Black  and  peeled  the  Parthenon  of  Athens  ! 
Deserted  now  the  Pantheon  of  Rome !  One 
treasure  remained  to  the  world  —  THE 
MEMORABILIA  OF  JESUS. 

Phsedrus,  the  slave-boy,  had  built  a  ship 
in  which  his  Master  would  sail  across  the 
seas  of  Time. 


[306] 


10 


Letter  from  Pseiiosiris,  a  Christian  Presbyter,  to  Apollo, 
a  Christian  Presbyter  at  Cysis  (Great  Oasis).  Papyrus, 
beginning  of  the  4th  century  A.D.  (Diocletian  persecu- 
tion). Now  in  the  British  Museum. 


NOTES 


NOTE  I 

Professor  Schmeidel  emphasizes  the  fact  that  of 
Jesus'  words,  not  one  proverb,  parable,  or  sermon  out 
of  ten  has  survived  the  twenty  centuries  since  His 
death.  In  weighing  this  statement,  the  thoughtful 
man  must  remember  that  other  teachers  of  that  far- 
off  era  have  suffered  losses  not  less  heavy. 

1.  ^Eschylus  wrote  90  plays.     It  is  known  that 
the  library  at  Alexandria  had  72  of  these.     To- 
day we  have  only  seven. 

2.  Euripides  wrote   92  dramas;    the   catalogue 
of  the  Alexandrian  library  included  78;  we  possess 
19. 

3.  There  were  17  of  Pindar's  books  at  Alexandria. 
We  have  4,  and  they  are  not  complete. 

4.  Nine  of  Sappho's  books  were  listed  at  Alex- 
andria ;  not  a  single  one  has  come  down  to  us. 

5.  Sophocles  wrote  123  dramas ;  ^we  possess  only  7. 
These  men  were  prolific  authors,  whose  aim  was 

to  secure  permanent  influence  through  a  medium 

which    is    enduring,  —  the    written    page.    Jesus 

wrote  no  books,  composed  no  dramas,  left  no  written 

[307] 


NOTES 

page.  He  chose  to  make  His  appeal  directly  to  His 
audiences,  relying  upon  His  voice,  and  the  power 
of  His  personality. 

NOTE  II 

The  earliest  manuscripts  of  Plato,  Cicero,  and 
Caesar  are  about  900  years  old.  The  oldest  copy 
we  have  of  Plato's  Republic  goes  back  to  the  tenth 
or  eleventh  century;  that  of  Cicero's  Orations  to 
the  ninth,  that  of  Caesar's  Commentaries  to  the 
ninth  or  tenth.  The  exact  dates  of  none  of  these 
are  known,  but  roughly  speaking,  there  is  a  gap 
of  a  thousand  years  between  these  manuscripts 
and  the  lives  of  the  men  whose  thoughts  they  record. 

This  is  not  the  case  with  the  Memorabilia 
of  Jesus.  Three  separate  manuscripts  go  back  to 
320  A.D.  England  owns  one  of  these  treasures,  — 
Codex  A.  Rome  possesses  another,  a  manuscript 
found  in  Alexandria,  Codex  B.  The  Czar  of 
Russia  owns  the  third,  a  collection  of  343  pages  on 
antelope  skin,  found  by  Tischendorf  in  a  waste- 
basket  in  the  Monastery  of  Mount  Sinai,  and  now 
known  by  scholars  as  the  Codex  Sinaiticus. 

Several  years  ago  there  was  taken  from  a  stone 
jar,  found  in  a  tomb  in  Egypt,  a  bundle  of  parch- 
ments, now  owned  by  Mr.  Charles  Freer  of  Detroit, 
Michigan.  Our  scholars  have  recently  discovered 
that  this  manuscript,  containing  324  sheets  of 
[308] 


Facsimile  of  Mark  xvi,  17-20,  of  the  Washington 
Manuscript  in  the  Freer  Collection. 


NOTES 

vellum,  is  one  of  the  most  important  manuscripts 
of  the  New  Testament.  It  is  remarkable  because 
it  gives  the  gospels  in  the  western  order,  Matthew, 
John,  Luke,  and  Mark,  and  it  contains  an  interpola- 
tion within  the  ending  of  Saint  Mark,  for  which  no 
other  Greek  authority  is  known  to  be  extant.  A 
facsimile  of  one  page  from  this  manuscript  is  given 
on  the  opposite  page. 

NOTE  III 

THE  OLDEST  AND  MOST  IMPORTANT  BIBLICAL  DOC- 
UMENTS IN  EXISTENCE 

1.  A  sheet  of  rice  paper,  containing  ten  verses 
of  the  first  chapter  of  John,  found  in  Oxyrhynchus^ 
Upper  Egypt.    Now  in  the  British  Museum.    Date, 
about  275  A.D. 

2.  A  papyrus  fragment  also  found  at  Oxyrhynchus, 
containing  part  of  the  first  chapter  of  Matthew. 
Now    preserved    in    Philadelphia.    Date,     about 
275  A.D. 

3.  A  papyrus  containing  the  Letter  to  the  He- 
brews.   Only  about  20  verses,  from  four  different 
chapters,  now  legible.    On  the  other  side  of  the  roll 
is  an  epitome  of  Livy's  history  of  Rome.    Date, 
about  325  A.D. 

4.  The  oldest  manuscript,  and  the  world's  greatest 
treasure,  the  Codex  B,  now  in  the  Vatican  Library, 

[309] 


NOTES 

Rome.  Written  on  very  fine  vellum  made  of  an- 
telope skin;  142  leaves  in  the  New  Testament, 
617  in  the  Old.  Three  columns  to  the  page  and 
about  40  lines  to  the  column.  Date,  about  325  A.D. 

5.  Of  equal  value  and  importance,  the  Codex 
Sinaiticus,  discovered  by  Tischendorf  in  the  Mon- 
astery of  St.  Catherine,    This  Codex  was  once  a 
complete  Bible,  but  a  part  of  the  Old  Testament  is 
now  missing.    The  New  Testament  is  complete, 
as  is  the  Epistle  to  Barnabas.    About  40  leaves  are 
now  in  the  library  of  Leipsic,  Germany.    The  re- 
maining 343  leaves  are  in  the  library  of  the  Czar 
at  St.  Petersburg.     Many  scholars  believe  that  the 
Codex  in  the  Vatican  and  the  one  in  St.  Petersburg 
are  2  of  the  50  bibles  ordered  by  Constantine  for 
the  churches  of  Constantinople. 

6.  England's  greatest  library  treasure,  the  Codex 
given  to  Charles  the  First,  about  1625,  and  now 
known  by  the  symbol  A.    This  manuscript  is  be- 
lieved to  have  been  written  about  420  A.D.    There 
were  originally  822  sheets  of  vellum,  of  which  773 
sheets  survive.    Each   page   contains   2  columns, 
and  the  writing  is  in  a  large,  square,  uncial  hand. 

NOTE  IV 

This  thin,  tattered  papyrus,  now  in  the  Berlin 
Museum,  was  found  sealed  up  in  a  jar  hi  a  tomb  on 
the  banks  of  the  Nile.    It  belongs  to  the  second 
[310] 


Letter  from  a  Prodigal  Son,  Antonis  Longus,  to  his  mother 
Nilus,  2d  century  A.D.  Papyrus  from  the  Fayum.  Now  in 
the  Berlin  Museum. 


NOTES 

century.  The  writers  lived  about  as  long  after  the 
death  of  Jesus  as  General  Grant  lived  after  the 
death  of  Washington.  It  is  important  because 
it  shows  that  Luke's  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son  was 
the  common  everyday  language  of  that  era.  This 
prodigal  son,  Antonius,  had  run  away  from  home, 
had  been  drinking,  had  been  arrested  for  debt,  and 
was  in  jail.  In  his  distress  he  writes,  imploring 
his  widowed  mother's  forgiveness. 

TRANSLATION 

Antonius  Longus  to  Nilus,  his  mother,  greetings : 
Continuously  do  I  pray  that  thou  art  hi  health. 
I  was  ashamed  to  come  to  Carinus,  because  I  walk 
about  in  rags.  I  write  now  that  I  am  naked.  I 
beseech  thee,  mother,  be  reconciled  unto  me.  I 
know  that  I  have  brought  all  these  things  upon 
myself;  in  every  way  I  have  been  chastened.  I 
know  that  I  have  sinned.  I  have  heard  that  Pos- 
thumus,  who  met  thee  at  Arsino,  has  secretly  told 
thee  all  these  sinful  things.  But  thou  knowest  I 
would  rather  lost  my  hand  than  be  in  debt  for  an 
obul.  Come  and  see  for  thyself.  I  have  heard 
that  —  [here  there  is  a  break  in  the  papyrus]  I  be- 
seech thee,  mother,  I  beseech  thee,  I  beseech  thee, 
be  reconciled  unto  me. 


[311] 


T 


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